


Noir Vale: The City that Never Sleeps

by LovelyArtist



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Things Happen To Carlos, Bad Things Happen To Cecil, Carlos is Autistic, Carlos is an FBI agent, Cecil Has Tattoos, Cecil's Fashion Sense, Consensual Sex, Detective Noir, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Heist AU, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of Violence, Really Corny, Stimming, The Voice of Night Vale, like REALLY corny sometimes, overstimulation/anxiety attack, sort of slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-16 19:31:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7281808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyArtist/pseuds/LovelyArtist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Federal Agent Carlos Ramon wasn't sure what he'd expected when he transferred from the Los Angeles office to the college town of Night Vale. He came to find the Voice of Night Vale: a nefarious criminal that had broken into fifteen museums in the Night Vale and Greater Desert Bluffs Metropolitan areas, leaving no evidence behind but a USB device with a recording. </p>
<p>He certainly wasn't counting on the plucky young reporter Cecil Palmer stealing his heart in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WELL. it’s taken me months to write most of this, but here you go. A Welcome to Night Vale Heist!AU 
> 
> And yes this is corny af most of the time. I REGRET NOTHING

“We’ve got another one.”

The detective rubbed his eyes, groaning quietly into his phone. “Another museum?” he grumbled. “Rachelle, you can’t be serious… this’s the second break in this week. And I’ve only _been_ here a week!”

“I know, Agent Ramon. But it’s our same guy. Same MO- most valuable things missing,a single alarm tripped, and a USB drive with an audio recording. It’s our friendly neighborhood Voice of Night Vale.”

“Damn it,” he yawned, and scratched the side of his stubbly face. “Doesn’t this guy ever _sleep?_ ” 

He sat up, joints creaking in complaint as he moved. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

*

On this night at 3:34 AM, Agent Carlos Ramon, transferred in from the Federal Bureau of Investigation Los Angeles Office in Los Angeles one week previous, drove down to the Night Vale Museum of Technology. As he walked, he kept one hand in the pocket of his dull-white trenchcoat, and the other around the coffee cup that was currently the only thing keeping him from falling asleep where he stood. He held the hat keeping his unruly curly hair out of his face as he ducked under the yellow police tape that crisscrossed the scene. A woman approached him. “Morning, boss man.” She said in a sarcastic manner.

“This is not morning, Rachelle. This is the night, and it is the reason I transferred out of the big city.” he almost growled to his partner in crime (or crime catching, to be specific), rubbing his eyes. “This is definitely our guy?”

“Without a doubt.” Rachelle nodded, one hand on her hip. “Dave from forensics is dusting for prints. Niljana is processing the audio.”

“What was taken?” Carlos took a sip from his coffee.

Rachelle flicked through the statement. “An American 1920s microphone,” she detailed, “a telephone, and…. Nikola Tesla’s notebook. This is new.” 

“Yes…” Carlos muttered, “he’s never taken anything like that. Least, not that I remember.”

“He’s getting brazen.” a voice from behind them came, “there’s track marks everywhere, like there were wheels in here.”

Carlos turned to acknowledge the forensics expert, Dave, and then took a sip from his cup. “Wheels?” Carlos shook his head, “just what the heck are they _doing?_ ” 

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Rachelle shrugged her shoulders, then turned back to Dave. “Anything else?”

“No more than usual.” He shook his head and shrugged. “No prints, no dna evidence, nothing.” he sighed. “There’s a few nicks on the roof from whatever hooks they were using to get in through the skylight, but they’re not anything that matches our database. There’s traces of aerosol they probably used to see the lasers, so I will have to run a few tests on it.”

“Good, good, get back with me as soon as you know more.” Carlos nodded, “Thanks, Dave.”

“Sure thing, boss man.” He waved him off, running his hand through his red hair. 

The two walked to where the computers were set up and approached a young woman, their Tech specialist Niljana, sitting intently with headphones. He looked at the laptop and saw that the same USB drive that was found at all of the other sites was the same: dark violet, painted with a lavender -colored eye with a crescent moon in the pupil. “Nils.” Rachelle tapped her shoulder, and she removed the headphones. “Any hits in the voice recognition software?”

“Nothing.” Her pigtails bounced as she shook her head. “It’s not turning up any kind of hit. It’s like this guy’s a ghost.” she handed Carlos the headphones. “But sir, I think you’re going to want to listen to this.”

The detective quirked an eyebrow, then sat down, covering his ears with the headphones.  
 _  
“A new man came into town today. Who is he? What does he want from us? Why his perfect and beautiful haircut, so tragically covered by that black fedora with the gray band? Why his perfect and beautiful white coat? We have learned he is a Federal Agent. But, we have all been Federal Agents at one point in or another in our lives.”_ Carlos had to note the amusement in the speaker’s voice, but was set on edge by how close this Voice of Night Vale (as the media and current bane of the detective’s existence Leanne Hart had dubbed him) seemed to the case. _“But why now? And why here? Just what does he plan to do with his team members all tapping away at their computers, dusting for fingerprints that will never be there, searching for connections in a confusing and turbulent world in our humble town’s police department- the one next to Big Rico’s Pizza? Agent,”_ Carlos felt his heart sink in uncertainty. _“No one does a slice like Big Rico’s. **No one.** ”_

Carlos shook his head and removed the headphones. “This guy is _nuts._ ” he muttered. “He’s obviously close to the case, or has someone on his team that is.” he shook his head, “Something’s telling me that the addition of Tesla’s notebook is directed at me. If he’s this close to the case, I’ll bet he did his research. He may know I have a background in science, or something.”

“Conceited much?” Rachelle snickered, but stopped once Carlos gave her a look that spoke volumes. “Sorry. So, anyways, what does this mean?”

Carlos shook his head. “I don’t know yet.” he admitted. “This guy, he’s slick. Fifteen cases all over Night Vale and the Desert Bluffs Metropolitan area, and no evidence left behind at any scene. No correlation, no connections, nothing. They’ve been doing this for a long time, I think.” he removed his hat, using his fingers to comb through his unruly hair, practically feeling the stripe of gray at his temples spread. “For now, we should be looking into the whereabouts of the items taken, to see if they’ve been sold and redistributed, or if they are being kept for their own collection.”

The detective went to take another drink, only to find the bitter nectar of caffeination had run out. He groaned. “If there’s nothing else to report yet, I’m going back to the precinct. Nils, you have the security footage of the other museums right?”

“Yeah,” Niljana nodded, handing him a USB drive. “I don’t know what you’ll find, though. Looking through all I saw was a whole lot of nothing.”

“There’s a science to it, Nils.” Carlos replied, shaking his empty paper cup with a frown. “And I am a scientist.”

*

5:42 AM, Agent Ramon found himself in the conference room of the precinct still mulling over the security footage. Fifteen museums. Hundreds of people, mulling in and out at different times, spending different amounts of time before different exhibits. Desert Bluffs was well known for their array of museums. People came from all over the country to view the art and science exhibits. Night Vale, on the other hand, was much smaller. It was the kind of town where everybody knows you, and everybody knows your business, whether you tell it to them or not. While Desert Bluffs Metropolitan area was, well, a metropolitan area, Night Vale seemed to be a single-street type of town. It wouldn’t take an intimate knowledge of the town to know about the artifacts in the Museum of Technology, but it may take an intimate knowledge of the town’s dynamics to know that Carlos was staying there to be close enough to the case without placing himself in a line of fire, and the reasons he was there. He only just got the chance to put out a press conference reaching out for help the day before. 

His phone rang. He checked the number. “ _Nils_ ” Carlos pursed his lips in a frown, and tapped the green “answer” button. “Agent Ramon.” 

“Agent, I finished transcribing and decoding the rest of the audio message. I just sent it to your email.” there was an audible sigh. “Boy, oh boy, this guy is wack-a-doodle.”

“Good to hear your input,” Carlos sighed, “thank you, Nils. Go get some rest, I get the feeling this isn’t over yet.” 

“You too, boss. Go get a bite to eat. Man cannot live on coffee alone.” Niljana chuckled. “Hey, he’s not wrong though.” his voice slipped into a tone resembling the mysterious Voice. “ _No one does a slice like Big Rico’s. No one._ ”

Carlos groaned and shook his head, putting a hand to his face. “You are so not helping, Nils.”

“Just trying to lighten the mood. Seriously though. There may be something to the Big Rico’s thing. May be a thing to follow up on.”

“At this point, it’s the only thing I can potentially follow up on. Thanks, Nils.” He hung up the phone and took a deep breath, removing his thick-lensed spectacles so he could rub his eyes. 

He minimized the security footage on his laptop, then clicked into his email. After scanning the attachment with an antivirus program to ensure it didn't have any hidden surprises within the file, he downloaded it and pressed play.  
 _  
“That new agent we now know is named Carlos Ramon called a press conference. He has a square jaw and teeth like a military cemetery. His hair is perfect, and I hate and despair and love that perfect hair in equal measure.”_ In an uneasy, almost unconscious motion, he touched his springy curls. _“Carlos told us that the mysterious cases involving the Voice of Night Vale was, by far, the most scientifically and forensically interesting case in the US, and he had come to crack the case.”_ Carlos felt his hands get clammy at his exact words being repeated to him in that soporific, honey voice. “ _He grinned, and everything about him was perfect,_ ” the voice dropped down to a breathy tone. “ _And I fell in love instantly._ ”

Carlos almost choked on his coffee, snorting in undignified shock. A week in this town, and the perp he was trying to track down was not only stalking him, but had some sort of _attraction_ to him?! The profilers back in Quantico would have a field day with this. “ _The rest of my team is here as well.”_ the voice in his ears continued, indifferent to his internal turmoil. _“I fear for you, Carlos,”_ the voice seemed genuinely concerned. _“My team, we fear for the Voice of Night Vale.”_ he seemed to quietly tut in concern. _“I fear for anyone caught between what they don’t know and what they don’t yet know that they don’t know.”_

The agent shook his head, removing the headphones as the recording came to a stop. He idly twirled the ring on his left hand, the ring his father had given him when he graduated the academy (he almost snorted aloud at the memory he had intended it to be a purity ring, given that the night before Carlos had spent with his then-boyfriend (now ex) fucking like rabbits dosed with an aphrodisiac). 

He twirled his ring and rocked slightly in the office chair to think. Then decided that his gurgling, empty stomach made him utterly useless for the time being, and decided that perhaps he ought to follow up on the Big Rico’s lead. 

It was a short walk to Big Rico’s Pizza. Carlos was grateful that the college town was founded on the backs of college students requiring sustenance at odd hours of the day, and that consequently most of the stores and restaurants were open twenty-four hours. If his new admirer kept waking him up at these hours and expecting him to chase after him, he would certainly need the easy access to cheap and easy food. The door to Big Rico’s opened with the ding of a bell to announce his arrival. One glance around told him what he needed to know about the restaurant: it was a popular place. A community hub, even. Even at a half-past six in the morning, there was a fair amount of people. Most of them seemed young, college students most likely. It seemed as though there was an unspoken law that the entire town had to eat there at least once a week. 

He ordered a slice of vegetarian pizza (gluten free, because since a scare of tainted gluten products made for a city-wide ban on wheat and wheat by-products) from the front counter and sat down at a booth in the back. He mulled over the facts as he waited for his heart-attack-on-a-plate. 

Number one: Over the course of the last five months, the Voice and his team of undetermined number had taken artifacts from more than a dozen museums in the Desert Bluffs Metropolitan and Night Vale areas, all with seemingly no trace. This says they have experience, or at least have been doing this for a very long time. Maybe he could trace prior accounts of break-ins in the last few years, to see if there was anything similar?

Number two: They were intimately close to the investigation. They understood police response times, they knew about the Bureau's involvement, and they knew about Carlos’s transfer, all almost before the general public knew about Carlos’s presence. The Voice of Night Vale either had a contact within the police force, or possibly was intimately involved themself. 

Number three, and the more shocking of his facts: The Voice of Night Vale seemed thoroughly infatuated with him. Before the Academy, Carlos was never very good at discerning tone and diction, but in this recording it was blatantly obvious that this man-or woman, for that matter, he was taught not to apply gender to a possible suspect, or else he could miss an important detail- had some form of fascination with him. And Carlos would be lying if he wasn’t interested in meeting the face that paired with the voice. 

At once, he heard his name called, and a slice of pizza was sitting on the counter up front. He shook his thoughts in lieu of getting some well deserved breakfast, and retrieved the pizza. He had just taken a rather large and QUITE ignoble bite when a small noise got his attention. “Excuse me,” a feminine voice, smooth as silk. “Is this seat taken?”

Carlos glanced to the source of the voice, swallowing quickly and hoping he didn't choke. A tall, slender woman stood before him, hip cocked elegantly to her left. This woman did not seem as though she belonged in this time and space. She wore a flowy dress that reached just below her knee and tapered slightly at the waist, and a string of pearls that reached down to the level of her collarbone. Both looked worn with age, as though she had worn them every day for the last several years. (Going off the increasingly unsubtle aroma of body odor, Carlos seriously considered that may be the case). She held a cigarette between her middle and index finger, flicking it nervously with her thumb every so often. The detective wasn’t sure but he was reasonably sure it was a prop cigarette, or one of those new-fangled electronic ones, because it never seemed to burn down and the end looked too bright to be from a flame. “Ma’am,” Carlos stated, “I’m reasonably sure that this is a non-smoking establishment.”

The woman snickered, bringing the cancer-stick to her mouth in a singular, smooth motion, but not appearing to inhale. She simply flicked the cigarette as if the smoke cloud would form a middle finger. Carlos was almost certain it did. “You never answered my question, Agent.” she spoke again, once the carcinogenic smoke had left the air. Carlos couldn’t be certain, but he was sure there was a subtly different inflection to her voice. He quickly recognized the French accent. “Is this seat taken?”

Carlos was a careful person. Overly careful, to a point. And this woman plucked all the wrong strings of his Instincts Violin. She held a certain air about her that she held too many secrets, and that her silver tongue would only divulge what was necessary to keep a game going. Much like a cat releases a mouse, only so it can continue its sadistic hunt. However, judging solely from the fact that Carlos had next to no leads to go on, he gestured to the seat across from him. 

The woman slid into the seat with an air of elegance. “You are Agent Ramon, with the FBI, non?” she rested her elbow on the table. “My name is Simone Rigedeau.”

“Good to meet you, Simone,” Carlos offered her his hand-once he wiped away the grease that seemed to soak from the pizza. “How can I help you, exactly?”

“You cannot,” she _tsk_ -ed him softly, “nor can you ‘help’ this town by being here, investigating The Voice.”

Carlos quirked an eyebrow in interest. “So you know them?” he asked, “you know the Voice of Night Vale?”

She chuckled elegantly, tapping the apparently non-existent ash into an ashtray that sat beside the salt and pepper. “No,” she said plainly, “I simply know of his work.” 

Carlos exhaled a sigh. “Right.” he almost groaned, “and what is it you know of his work?”

“I know that it is not stealing if things are yours to begin with,” she spoke smoothly, “have you found where the artifacts go?”

Carlos narrowed his eyes, trying and failing to read her face. “Ms. Rigadeau,” he dropped his tone into a warning tone. “If you know something about The Voice of Night Vale, and you don’t tell us, you could be considered an accomplice.”

“I do not know where the artifacts go,” she told him, locking eyes with him. “I do know, however, that he is not stealing them from Desert Bluffs. He is bringing them back.”

Carlos held her gaze, despite everything in his mind and body screaming _no_. Even though it didn’t always make for good police work, Carlos couldn’t, nor did he want to fight his most basic anxiety-inducers, and therefore avoided eye contact as much as possible. Simone seemed to sense this, and blinked slowly. Carlos was grateful, and instead averted his eyes to the penciled mole over her lip. “My point is,” she said, leaning back in her seat. “To stop The Voice would do our town more harm than good.”

She stood, squashing her cigarette in the ashtray (when it didn’t crumple, Carlos celebrated in his observation it was a fake), and smoothing out her rumpled dress. “It’s been nice speaking with you, Agent Ramon.” she said, “And… by the way…” she glanced over her shoulder, and glanced Carlos up and down. “You would do much better to get rid of the hat. It’s rude to wear a hat indoors.”

Carlos didn’t realize he was still wearing it. He tentatively touched it, removing it and placing it on the table next to him as Simone sauntered out. He took a bite of pizza and his phone buzzed. He glanced. A text from an unknown number. 

_“SO much more attractive without the hat.”_

Carlos felt a prickle on the back of his neck. He typed back. “ _Is this the Voice of Night Vale?”_

He watched his phone, taking another bite. It buzzed. _“Perceptive, Carlos!”_ a second text came through. _“Handsome AND smart! What else could I be missing out on?”_

Carlos bit his bottom lip, rocking himself in a subconscious motion. After a few moments of thought, he tapped a reply. _“Why don’t you show yourself and you can find out?”_

As his phone made the little “ _bwoop_ ” noise that signified a text being sent, he heard soft footsteps next to him. “A-ah, excuse me,” Carlos sighed softy. Perhaps a quiet lunch was too much to ask.

Carlos looked up at the voice. The face that accompanied the voice nearly took his breath away. If Simone Rigadeau was a femme fatale type, he didn’t know _what_ to call this man before him. He had his chin tucked close to his chest, looking over at Carlos with wide, almost doe-like eyes. He stood with his feet together, and wringing his hands in what could only be depicted as a nervous motion. This man before him had the appearance of someone eager and even plucky in any _other_ situation, but suddenly turned to jello in this one. Carlos was as much enchanted as he was completely confused. This man was dressed in a shirt with a orange honeycomb pattern, and paired with a green paisley vest, as well as a pair of pants that looked as though they had been splattered with mauve paint on the thighs and knees, but not the shins, and topped off with a pair of sensible white sneakers speckled in violet. The term ‘real world imaginary friend’ came to mind. After a moment he pushed purple horn-rimmed glasses up his nose, so they were perched on the bridge of his nose and not the end. “Ah,” Carlos regained his words after a moment. “Can I help you?”

The man’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Hi,” he said softly, still wringing his hands, but offering a small smile, “Listen, you don’t know me, but I know you.”

_What else is new in this town?_ Carlos didn’t ask. “You’re Agent Carlos Ramon,” the beautiful man said, “M-My name is Cecil Palmer, I’m a reporter. I just wanted to ask if you happened to find any of the missing artifacts yet?”

Carlos sighed quietly. “Mr. Palmer,” he said, “I’m sure you understand, but I can’t disclose any details regarding the Voice of Night Vale case.” He practically muttered the media’s name for him in disdain.

Cecil looked mildly crestfallen, but not discouraged. “Of course, I understand,” he nodded, closing his eyes thoughtfully. “You don’t seem very amused. I thought I did an alright job in the name…” he sniffed slightly. “I think I had at least a little more originality than some of my coworkers… I mean, ‘Night Vale’s Robin Hood’? How cliché. Cancel subscription.”

Carlos felt a mixture of irritation, but also intrigue. “I’m unamused by the name because once you name things, you start getting attached to them,” he said, “giving a name to a criminal just encourages them. Or worse, it makes them more bold, more brazen, and more likely to hurt somebody. The fact that this suspect is a local ‘media sensation’ makes my job that much harder.”

Cecil just looked down, looking heartbroken. “Oh,” he said softly.

Carlos felt his heart sink into his stomach. Crap. he was being blunt again. “It is a good name, though,” he offered, “very authorative, very...” he gestured vaguely, searching for an effective word. “Impactful.”

Cecil’s face seemed to flush a crimson red. “N-neat.” His voice was almost a squeak.

_So cute!_ Carlos was smitten, to the point of no words. The detective regained brain function after a moment. “You mentioned one of the names on the table was ‘Night Vale’s Robin Hood,’” Cecil seemed to groan at Carlos’s very mention of the name. “Off the record, what exactly do you mean by that?”

Cecil seemed to pale slightly under Carlos’s scrutiny. “Please, sit down, sit down,” Carlos quickly added, gesturing to the empty seat across from him.

“No, no,” Cecil shook his head, “I’m afraid I have another lead to chase. But Carlos,” he cleared his throat and corrected himself. “Agent Ramon.”

Cecil locked eyes with Carlos, a deliberate action. “With a town like Night Vale, you may meet more resistance than you’re expecting when it comes to our Voice.” His voice almost dropped an octave, sending a chill down Carlos’s spine. “Be safe.”

The detective watched as he left, hips swaying subtly. “Oh, and by the way,” Cecil glanced over his shoulder. “You, um. You look much better without the hat. You have _perfect_ hair.”

Before Carlos could effectively respond, Cecil had almost run away on the balls of his feet. What _was_ it with this town and his hair? His phone beeped. He glanced down. _“We can’t meet yet, Carlos. A new player has entered the game, and he is a dangerous one.”_

Carlos narrowed his eyes in thought. _“A new player?”_ He decided the direct approach was best. _“On your team or mine?”_

The response was almost instantaneous. _“On their team._ ” a moment, then another text. _“Dear Carlos, we are not enemies. I am not a thief.”_

Carlos almost laughed. _“I have fifteen open case files that state otherwise.”_

A few minutes passed before a response came through. “ _Have you found the artifacts in question yet?”_

Carlos exhaled an exasperated breath through his nose. “ _This makes three people that have asked me about this,”_ he typed, _“what is the significance?”_

Before any response came through, his phone rang. The screen flashed with the contact name _“Nils”_. Carlos hit the green “answer” button. “Agent Ramon.”

“We have a hit!” Carlos was shocked, and actually flinched when Niljana shouted into the receiver. “we’ve found a few of the artifacts!”

“I’ll be in the office in five minutes!”

Carlos glanced down at the pizza, half eaten on the plate. Justice took precedence, he decided, picking up the half-slice and dropping it into the garbage on his way out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2, way sooner than I thought I'd actually post it xD 
> 
> just a heads up, this does have description of anxiety attack/overstimulation/ not even sure what to call it tbh. and I tried to describe it as best as I could, for anyone that does not experience meltdowns/overstimulation and maybe help promote understanding in that sense (and while this is mostly just. my experience, and how I react when in the situation esp with not a lot of sleep, I still want to (attempt to anyways) put it in words what it's like/how things look/feel/sound/etc. )

“What do we have?” Carlos was direct, determined to know more.

“Look at these,” Niljana pulled a few images up onto the screen. “these were the first things taken from the Desert Bluffs Art Institute.”

A surrealist oil painting of a man in profile, with a large Bichon Frise in the background, a sculpture of a severed appendage of the urban legend Cryptid (“Librarians”, Carlos heard them called), and a minimalist sketch of a strange, elongated figure emerging from a refrigerator. Weird, and quirky, but what wasn’t in this neck of the woods, it seemed?

She turned around, then pointed to a box sitting on the counter. “Guess what was just donated to the Night Vale museum of Art?”

Carlos went to the box, extracting the three items in question. “He… donated them?” he asked, puzzled. “why to Night Vale? Why so close?”

“The plot thickens.” Rachelle crossed her arms. “Apparently, this guy is a real Robin-Hood.”

Carlos frowned in concentration. “About six months ago, most of the Night Vale museums were bought out by a neighboring pharmaceuticals company: StrexCorp.” Niljana typed away at the laptop keyboard. “A lot of their artifacts were taken to be placed in Desert Bluffs museums, but the owners in Night Vale were left holding the bag. A lot of this stuff is family artifacts, from the founding of their town. Historical landmark type stuff.”

“So this is retaliation,” Carlos mused, “The Voice of Night Vale is taking back what they believe StrexCorp stole.” His voice dropped to a mutter. “So that’s what he meant by us meeting resistance… The whole town probably supports what they’re doing.”

“In a distant way, I can’t say I disagree.” Rachelle shook her head, “This is their town’s legacy. Not to mention the fact that all of the documents surrounding the artifacts StrexCorp supposedly seized were,” she made quotes with her pointer and middle fingers. “‘Destroyed in a fire’, and there is no electronic documentation. Word around the town is that they essentially strong-armed the owners into selling.”

Carlos narrowed his eyes in thought, twirling his ring. There was still one thing that didn’t quite fit. What did The Voice mean by a ‘new player’? “Oh, I see you’ve already been debriefed, then,” a voice that sounded entirely too sweet floated through the room. “You must be Agent Ramon.”

Carlos turned his head, watching as a man came into the door. He was not fat, nor was he thin. He was neither short, nor tall. Truth be told, he looked very similar to Cecil, save for rounded sunglasses, and scars on either corners of his mouth, making it look like he was constantly smiling. “Detective Kevin R. Free,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m a private investigator, I was hired by StrexCorp to recover their missing artifacts.”

“Is that so?” Carlos quirked an eyebrow, searching his face for signs of dishonesty. “I’m sorry, detective Free, but we don’t work with private I’s.”

“Aw,” Kevin practically pouted, and it sent a nervous shiver down Carlos’s spine. “That’s not what your Station Management said.” His tone took on a dangerous tone even Carlos could hear. “Although, they were a little bit… tied up… when I spoke to them last.”

Carlos felt his eyes wander to Rachelle, on the other side of the room, where she stood close to the box of evidence. He locked eyes with her, and prayed she would understand. She seemed to; she blinked a slow blink, nodding her head once, before taking the box and quickly walking in the opposite direction of them. “I was told you recovered a few of the artifacts that were stolen,” Thankfully, Kevin didn’t seem to notice Rachelle’s escape. “I would really, _really_ appreciate it if I could get those back. They are, after all, priceless artifacts.”

Carlos tried not to falter with his voice. “Your information was inaccurate, Detective. Nothing has been recovered yet.`” He stated, and Carlos could feel the glare through his sunglasses. “And even if we _did_ find it, it would still be evidence.”

“It is stolen property that needs to be recovered.” Kevin kept his voice just barely above a growl, “Station management has already-“

“I am not under Station management.” Carlos begged his own voice to stay steady. “I am a federal agent, and you are treading dangerous waters, Detective Free.”

“Agent Ramon,” Kevin lowered his sunglasses, locking his scarred, red eyes with Carlos, “Let me be perfectly clear with you about Night Vale.”

Carlos’s heart pounded from the nerves. His hold on the dominant force of the conversation was fading fast. Every instinct he had screamed and begged him to look away but for the sake of keeping up the image, he did not. “You do not own Night Vale.” Kevin’s voice sounded like it was under water. “StrexCorp. Owns. Night Vale.” 

Kevin kept his eyes on Carlos’s as he practically slinked away. “This is not over, Agent Ramon.” Kevin promised, smooth voice laced with poison up until he turned around to leave. “I’ll be seeing you again, I’m sure.”

Carlos breathed a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Hey,” Niljana’s voice sounded like it was coming through a wall. “Agent Ramon? Carlos, are you alright?”

Carlos nodded his head, eyes aimed at the ground. _Speak, for the love of god man, speak!_ “F-fine.” he forced the word out, “F-fine.”

His phone rang, and it made his heart jump. He checked the contact. A text from a blocked number. He groaned in frustration. He was too damn tired and stressed out for this right now! He opened it. “ _The Moonlite All Night Diner is a local hub. You’ll find the best information about Strexcorp there.”_

Carlos shook his head, thumbs tapping irritatedly. “ _Much obliged. Will follow up._ ”

“I’m going to check around town for more information about this Strexcorp thing.” he said, after several deep breaths. 

“Sir, are you sure you’re alright?” Niljana’s voice was clearer, but still muddled. 

Carlos nodded, carefully. “I’m just tired,” he muttered, “I’m kind of in low power mode for the moment.”

He straightened himself, adjusting his atom tie and smoothing wrinkles from his red flannel shirt. “While I’m checking around town, look into StrexCorp’s financial information. See what a pharmaceutical company wants with all of these museums.” He said, “or if there’s someone with enough of a vendetta against StrexCorp.”

“The latter is definitely not in short supply.” She replied, turning in her chair and back towards the computer.

Carlos scratched the back of his head. This case was proving to be much more of a rabbit hole than he thought. 

*

1:41 PM, Moonlite All Night Diner. The agitated detective-turned-agent groaned audibly as he removed his dark frames from his nose, placing them on the table before him. He twirled his ring in an irritated motion, his whole mind racing uncomfortably. Carlos managed to turn up a whole lot of nothing from the patrons of the diner. It didn’t seem as though any of them were even remotely willing to help. It was like the entire town was on the side of The Voice. Add to this coffee so bitter you’d think it had just been through a bad breakup and a layer of smoke rolled over from the other side of the restaurant that made the entire diner smell like cigar smoke and everyone and thing in it look as though they had next to no outlines, and Carlos was beyond ready to leave. 

The surroundings of the diner felt as though they were closing in on him, suffocating him slowly. He wanted nothing more than to escape; he wanted to return to the small hotel room the Bureau had put him up in and ignore the rest of this insane town. At least for a little while. But any time his mind went to the thought of escape, it instead focused on how grating the voices were, or how little he cared about the conversation at the next table or the fact that he was listening to every conversation in the building, all at the same time. It was similar to having a nail stuck in his foot, where at that moment in time all he could think about was how much it hurt, not how to make it better. He yawned, rubbing his eyes with both hands. He didn’t restrain himself as he rocked gently, hoping he wasn’t drawing attention to himself. “Carlos?” a single, quiet voice pierced the fog of voices and hazy smoke. “Agent Ramon?”

Carlos glanced up. There was that Cecil Palmer character again, his outline hazy from the lack of glasses, but backlit by the ambient lights of the diner. Carlos could’ve sworn he was an angel. An angel in an orange honeycomb shirt, but an angel nonetheless. “Are you okay?”

The agent stared back down at the table, the patterns in the vinl of the tablecloth becoming more and more interesting than any kind of further social interaction. He nodded, trying to form words and ultimately failing as they tumbled out his mouth in something resembling whimpers. He tried to keep his hands from shaking as he took his phone from his pocket. Carlos opened the “Notes” app and tapped out a message with trembling hands. “ _Fine._ ” he tapped, then hit enter twice. “ _It’s just loud in here._ ”

He finished typing, and turned the phone towards Cecil. He looked puzzled for a moment, but nodded in understanding. Carlos was acutely aware of the sound of rummaging through a bag of some sort. A quiet _clunk, shhhf_ met his ear. Carlos opened one eye, seeing a pair of headphones, dark violet in color and padded with a light lavender color fabric. A second, softer _tap_ and _shhhf_ , and Carlos watched as a cellophane wrapped package of gum came into view. Confused for a moment, he studied the items before him. He heard a few taps from Carlos’s phone, still sitting on the table. Then a gentle _shhhf,_ and Carlos read the note below his. “ _My best friend’s son has autism. He doesn’t like noise either._ ”

Carlos felt a small weight off his chest. He watched Cecil’s slender hands take back the phone for a moment, fingers flying over the keyboard quickly, then turn it back to him. He used one finger to tap the unopened package of gum. “ _And I’ve found lavender chewing gum is good for anxiety attacks_.” 

Carlos took a deep breath, bringing his fingertips to his chin with an an open hand, then down and away from his body. “ _Thank you,_ ” it was one of the only signs he knew, but it did its job when words couldn’t. 

Cecil offered a small smile and nodded, watching as Carlos slipped the headphones over his ears. The relief was almost immediate. The headphones muffled the sound just enough so that he could hear a few noises around him and didn’t feel completely vulnerable, but it was at a tolerable level. He sighed quietly, fumbling with the cellophane of the gum and tapping a single square chicklet. Any other time he might’ve been more cautious to accept gum from a stranger. But, given that it was still in the cellophane and there had been no signs of tampering, he decided to chance it. He hummed quietly in contentment, bringing his knees to his chest and leaning against the wall beside the booth he was in. he snapped his eyes open at the distinctive _tap tap_ of a fingernail on the table next to him. He glanced up. Cecil had typed more into the notes. “ _If you have the time to wait, the lunch crowd is usually done by 3.”_

Carlos nodded, signing a second “ _thank you_ ”, and wrapping his dull white trenchcoat around himself. 

*  
The agent blinked his eyes, moving to adjust his glasses. When his fingers simply grasped air, he remembered he took them off. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he’d fallen asleep. Carlos glanced around him. The crowd that had accrued for lunch was now down to just a few tables. He slipped his dark frames over his ears, adjusting them so they sat on the bridge of his nose, and blinked again. Cecil sat across from him, a cup of coffee on the table. He typed away at a smallish laptop, occasionally turning towards a composition notebook on the table and marking it with the pencil tucked over his ear. Carlos found himself studying the lines and creases on the reporter’s focused face. The way the gentle shadows from the lights accentuated the gentle swoop of his jaw, the way his mouth moved and eyes narrowed at a particularly wordy sentence or poor word choice in need of revision. The way he took his coffee cup without looking, and the deep sips that tilted the mug more than what was probably necessary. Carlos smiled. He quickly stopped himself. He was in Night Vale for work. Not for dating. He shifted his stiff legs and stretched his arms, yawning quietly. 

Cecil seemed to notice his change in appearance. He glanced towards Carlos and offered a smile. 

Carlos removed the headphones, grateful to find that the noise in the diner had reduced significantly. “Thank you again,” he said, passing the headphones over the table. 

“Of course,” Cecil said, taking them back and putting them in his messenger bag. “Glad I could help.”

Upon the realization it was still in his lap, Carlos started to offer him the box of lavender gum. Cecil shook his head, waving one hand dismissively. “Keep it.” he said easily, “with how hard you must be working, you probably need it more than I do right now.”

“Thank you,” Carlos withdrew his hand, putting the gum in the pocket of his white coat. “What time is it?”

“Not sure,” Cecil replied, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Not everyone here remembers to change the time for Daylight Savings Time, so half the clocks around here don’t work for time.”

Carlos glanced down at his phone, clicking the lock screen. 3:24 PM. 3 missed calls. 2 new messages. All from Rachelle and Niljana. He _tsk_ -ed quietly, shaking his head. “Duty calls,” he murmured, “Again, thank you so much for that.”

Cecil shook his head, keeping up his small smile. “It’s no trouble, really.” he replied.

Carlos had started to stand to leave when he heard Cecil clear his throat. “Ehm… Agent Ramon?”

Carlos turned back to him. “Would you... “Cecil swallowed, his adam’s apple jumping. “Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner tonight?”

The agent felt his heart hammer against his ribs, but then sink in remembering how detrimental it would be to be involved with someone that could possibly be involved in the case. He frowned slightly, looking down at Cecil apologetically. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I really don’t think it would be a good idea to-”

“Agent Ramon,” Cecil said, his tone much more insistent, smile less there, eyes and pointer finger aimed at his notebook, “I really must insist,” he punctuated his words with a few taps to the scrawled handwriting. 

Carlos aimed his eyes at the writing. _“You want information on Strexcorp. Here is not safe. Ears and eyes everywhere.”_

Carlos prided himself on keeping a professional distance in his work. It wasn’t very often that he got attached to people involved in a case, and it was absolutely unheard of to go to someone’s house under the pretense of a date. But something inside Carlos told him that it would be ill-advised not to. “Well,” he said, “I suppose I could… just this once.”

Cecil smiled, and Carlos felt his chest flutter. “6:30?” he suggested. 

“6:30 sounds perfect.” Carlos replied, smiling back. 

Cecil’s face flushed a strawberry color as he looked down, writing on a small slip of paper. He tore it carefully, and offered it to him. “My address, and phone number.” Cecil winked. “Since I’m sure you wouldn’t just give your phone number to any cute reporter that asks.”

Carlos cleared his throat, hoping he wasn’t blushing as much as he thought he was. “I appreciate that.” he replied truthfully, his voice slightly monotone.

Cecil chuckled quietly. “Well then.” he said, turning back to his coffee and notebook. “I’ll let you go back to work, Agent Ramon.”

“Right,” Carlos cleared his throat. “See you tonight, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I do headcanon that Roger Harlan has autism. just. some of the stuff in the Thanksgiving episode (hiding in the dark of the cupboard, keeping to a consistent and strict routine when it comes to the walking at night thing, seeming like he has a lot of trouble making/keeping connections even with Earl) just really struck a cord with me
> 
> Also Cecil is a good bean. that is all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter mentions sexual assault and violence. but it isn't described :)

6:40 PM. Carlos cursed under his breath as he put the car in park, taking the bottle of wine from behind the seat. He toggled the switch to lock his doors, then slammed the driver door behind him. The agent straightened his off-white coat, and straightened his tie with the internet- emoticon cat in between two brackets that was a joke on Schrodinger’s Cat (he changed his shirt and tie for the sake of looking a little more dressed-up. To give the impression to any wandering eyes or ears that this was a date, of course, since Cecil seemed so adamant about a secret meeting. No other reason, he told himself firmly). He consulted the paper in his pocket for which apartment he was going to, then stuffed it back into the pocket of his dull white trenchcoat. 

He came to the door, his heart thudding hard in his chest. He swallowed nervously, and took a deep breath to right himself. _Why am I so nervous?_ He asked himself, suddenly feeling very silly at his nerves, _This isn’t a real date. He isn’t really interested in you._ He took another deep breath. _Carlos Ramon, you are trained to handle gunfire, pepper spray, explosions, everything short of godzilla coming up from the ocean, you will not be nervous for a simple act of interviewing a possible suspect casually over dinner, darn it!_ And before he could lose his spark of courage, he knocked briskly on the door. 

“I’ll be right there!” Cecil’s voice was muffled by the door.

Carlos waited a moment before he heard the door open a few inches. Cecil’s face peeked out from behind a small chain. “Oh, good, you’re here!” he hummed, closing the door.

There was a little sound of metal against wood, and the door opened again wider. Carlos almost laughed at the violet tunic he wore, paired with a taupe and green pair of pants that looked as if they were made from some strange colored furry beast, but thought better of it. The red apron he had over his front was kind of cute, though. “Hi,” he said with a smile.

“Hi,” Carlos smiled apologetically, “I’m sorry I’m late… The Ralph’s changed their aisle layout from the last time I went in so I got a little lost trying to find this,” he passed him the merlot he carried.

Cecil gave a quiet hum of appreciation. “Ah!” he said, eyes darting over the label “Perfect, this will pair well with dinner.”

He motioned for Carlos to come in. “Please, come in, make yourself comfortable.” he said, “Dinner's almost ready.”

Carlos glanced around the small apartment as he shrugged his coat off, hanging it next to-what he could only guess- appeared to be a newspaper-print jacket on a coat rack shaped like three tentacles. Carlos ran a hand over the smooth craftsmanship. Very Lovecraft-reminiscent! “I hope you like beef,” Cecil’s voice brought his attention away from the eldritch coatrack. “I make a salisbury steak that is to die for!”

Carlos bit his lip. Actually, he didn’t eat a lot of meat. Not because of any personal reason or anything, or because he didn’t like the taste. More because he usually couldn’t _afford_ to eat a lot of meats as he grew up and up until he got his job at the Bureau. But he wasn’t going to be rude, and salisbury steak _did_ sound appealing. “Sounds delicious,” he called back, following the source of Cecil’s voice to the kitchen. 

His kitchen seemed like a strange mishmosh of different paints and style schemes. Almost as if Cecil basically took anything that made him say “Oh, this is neat!” and included it somewhere in the kitchen (actually, Carlos was sure that’s how it happened). Disorganized, quirky, but at the same time unique and downright homey, much like the reporter himself. The sounds of sizzling meats hit his ear, and he watched Cecil cooking over a hot stove, a few additional pots and pans burbling and hissing. Cecil tapped the side of the pan with his wooden spoon, then put the spoon on a napkin as he turned off the heat on the stove. Still facing away from Carlos, he leaned to his right, standing on tiptoes to open a tall cupboard, taking two wine glasses from the top shelf. “Mmm, this will be good,” he hummed softly, “it’s been ages since I've had a good glass of wine.” 

“I hope I did alright choosing a year,” Carlos commented, accepting the mushroom-handle corkscrew Cecil offered him and screwing it into the cork. “I've never been all that good with that stuff.”

He wiggled it free, and it opened with a loud _“pop!”_ Cecil smiled and placed the glasses on the counter before him, “I’m sure it’ll be lovely, Agent Ramon.”

“Carlos,” the agent replied before he realized what he’d said, “I… I think if I'm here under the guise of a date, you can call me by my first name.”

Cecil smiled. “Alright,” he replied. “Carlos, then.”

Carlos felt a coil in his stomach. He wondered to himself if this was using Cecil, seeing how close he was to the case. It didn't seem fair to the Agent. Not knowing what he knew.  
_  
“We checked the files of some of the businesses affected by Strexcorp expansions,” Niljana explained, tapping away at her computer. “We turned up a lot of disgruntled workers. It seems when their VP Lauren Mallard took over, she had a ‘new broom, clean sweep’ approach to things.”_

_“I don't think this was something to do with a disgruntled worker,” Rachelle tapped her chin thoughtfully, “if that was the case, almost half the town would've been rioting in the streets.”_

_“I don't know then,” Niljana shook her head, “I've searched through their documents with a fine tooth comb and there's not a lot that stands out.”_

_Carlos narrowed his eyes in thought. “Strexcorp is a pharmaceutical company,” he muttered, thinking aloud, “Nils, what if this is part of something from before the museums were bought out? Try looking for suits filed against Strexcorp before the buyout.”_

_Niljana’s fingers flew across the keys, tapping like a woman possessed. A tiny blip hit their ears. “Bingo,” he muttered, “here's something interesting.”_

_He expanded the report. “It looks like there was a class-action suit about seven years ago. About ten people, all pregnant mothers. It looks like they all took a drug called Avancit, and their children were born with spinal problems. A couple of them even died from complications.”_

_“That’s horrible,” Carlos frowned. “And certainly something to make someone hate Strexcorp.”_

_He patted Niljana on the shoulder. “Good work so far,” he said, “try cross referencing the names from the case to those that lost their jobs with the buyouts.”_

_“Can do, sir.” Niljana replied, again typing. “Should I restrict it to just the museums or all of the businesses bought by them?”_

_“All,” Carlos said, “this place is a mom-n’-pop community. I'm willing to bet someone had a connection to the Night Vale museums enough to decide that Strex’s acquisition was the last straw.”_  
  
“Carlos?” Cecil’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. When did he start drifting off like that?

“Right, sorry,” he apologized, shaking his head slightly, tilting the bottle so he poured two glasses to half. “Was just thinking.”

“You have do that a lot to be a federal agent.” Cecil gave him a playful smirk, taking the glass closer to him by the crystal stem and swirling the red liquid. 

Carlos chuckled, taking the other glass. “Yes, I suppose so.”

The federal agent took a slow sip, examining a picture in a frame on the wall. Cecil, with a woman with dark, kinky-curly hair, even a bit curlier than Carlos’s hair. If he had to guess, he’d almost think she was River Song. “My older sister, Abby.”Cecil spoke up, his voice sounding- stifled, almost. “One of the last pictures we took together, actually. She, um. “Cecil swallowed. “She died in a car accident.”

“Oh,” Carlos’s voice was soft. “I’m… wow. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Cecil murmured, “It, um. It just hurts sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Carlos bit the inside of his cheek. “I know how you feel.” 

Cecil smiled a grateful smile and took a sip from his glass, bringing it to almost a ninety-degree angle, then back down. “I suppose you were hoping for information on Strexcorp,” Cecil’s voice had a tone of disappointment, as though he didn’t want to talk about it. 

“Yes,” Carlos admitted, his heart sinking. “We could wait, if you want.”

“No, no,” Cecil shook his head, putting the glass down on the counter and walking to a desk in the living room. “We may as well get work out of the way.” He offered Carlos a sheepish smile. “But all work and no play makes Carlos a dull boy.”

Carlos smirked and rose an eyebrow at his implication, taking a sip from the bitter liquid. “You know, I don’t usually do this.” he said, “But I suppose I could make an exception.”

“I’m honored,” Cecil smiled, taking a file from the desk. 

Carlos took a sip from the glass, examining the knickknacks on the bookshelves. He picked up a picture frame, examining it closely. Cecil, with a man with ruddy red hair and a child that looked like a miniature of the red haired man, and a young girl with long dark hair pleated into two braids. He knew who it was, but he figured he ought to let Cecil tell him.  
__  
“Here’s one name that sticks out to me,” Niljana nibbled on the eraser of her pencil. “Cecil Gershwin Palmer.

_Carlos furrowed his eyes in interest. “Cecil Palmer?”_

_“Yes, Cecil Gershwin Palmer. Age 34, graduated from Night Vale Community College with a degree in Journalism and a second degree in Sound Engineering. It looks like he left to go backpacking Europe for a few months the year he graduated but otherwise has never set foot out of Night Vale. Anyways, Cecil and his sister, Abbigayle Palmer Carlsberg, were involved in the Avancit case. She took Avancit during her pregnancy for blood clotting problems and her daughter, Janice, was born without use of her legs.” Niljana explained, typing and clicking different images of the family to make them bigger. “All of the other families accepted settlements and the case was ultimately dropped, but they were the only ones that held out for longer.”Her face fell sadly. “Oh… that’s awful… Mrs. Carlsberg died four years ago, in a car accident ruled as a suicide, and Janice now lives with her step-father Steve, and Cecil helps them pay their way. But when she died they were forced to drop the case.”_

_“Jeez.” Rachelle shook his head, “The poor kid.”_

_“Oh, It gets better,” Niljana shook her head, typing more, and sighing quietly. “Apparently, Strexcorp didn’t just buy out the museums in Night Vale. They also bought the local Community Radio Station. Here our boy Cecil used to be partial owner of the station, as well as work as the host for a nightly news show, but when Strexcorp came in they wanted to pimp their own agenda and advertisement and Cecil refused.” she shook her head again. “Dear god… in the three months before he was fired, apparently Cecil was in the hospital four times. Once for a sprained wrist, twice for concussion,” she groaned quietly as if in pain, “oh, dear god, can't this poor guy catch a break, once and most recently for a broken nose, lower lumbar contusions and injuries consistent with sexual assault.”_  
  
Carlos felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He’d researched suspects before. But with Cecil… It felt _wrong._ Really _wrong._ As though he should've waited for Cecil to tell him all this himself, not read it on a computer screen. He swirled his wine miserably and sat down at the kitchen table. “This is all of the information I have on StrexCorp.” Cecil explained, sitting next to him. “I started investigating them some time ago for an expose.”

Carlos pushed his guilt aside for the moment, taking a deep sip from his wine. He shuffled through the papers, finding financial records and approval documents for drugs and chemicals he couldn't pronounce in places he didn't recognize right away. “How did you get these documents?” Carlos asked, feeling his tone switch into FBI mode. 

Cecil chuckled quietly. “Let's just say I have very good sources.” He said dubiously.

Carlos chose to ignore the fact that these documents had probably been obtained through illegal or immoral methods, and instead focused on the content. “Something about these doesn’t add up,” The agent murmured, comparing documents, “there’s far too much material being ordered for the amount of product being put on the market,” he fiddled with his ring. “And it seems as though they’ve got more money than they can account for… where is this revenue coming from?”

“Why would a pharmaceutical company buy museums?” Cecil asked sagely, “certainly not because they get regular deliveries and shipments of new artifacts, or receive anonymous donations, or be a nice, climate-controlled place to hide crates full of what is probably totally legitimate medications.” 

“So you think they’re using the museums as a front?” Carlos clarified, “for some kind of drug trade?”

“Bingo, Gluten-free spaghettios.” Cecil tapped the documents on the counter. 

“I don’t understand, though.” Carlos narrowed his eyes in thought, still twirling his ring. “How is this connected to the Voice of Night Vale? If they’re trying to retaliate against Strexcorp and what they’ve done in the town, it would make more sense to expose the illegal drugs. But take the artifacts? Only to return them to their original owners?” he shook his head. “And what did you mean earlier? About it not being safe to talk about in public?”

“For the first question,” Cecil started, leaning on one hip and crossing his arms, still holding the almost empty wine goblet. “I think it would hurt the museums just as much as Strexcorp if they broke in and just started airing out dirty laundry.” he took a sip, and looked back at Carlos with a certain gleam in his eye and a mysterious quality to his grin. “That, or the stolen artifacts are a mesage to Strexcorp. ‘This is what I can do. Release your hold on my town, or you will regret it.’ kind of thing, you know?”

Carlos mulled it over in his mind as Cecil downed the remaining sip of wine with a smooth sip. “As for the latter question…” his tone changed, as if he was afraid they were under surveillance as they spoke. “Strexcorp has their goons everywhere,” Cecil kept his face aimed at the ground, eyes closed, brows knit, and mouth drawn into a tight frown. “It’s a bad idea to talk negatively about Strexcorp.”

“A bad enough idea to put someone in the hospital?” Carlos asked, before he realised what he said.

Cecil appeared to lose three shades of color in his face. “Bad enough that I’m positive that my sister’s death was _not_ a suicide.” His voice was dark.

The following silence chilled the air. There was a quiet ding, bringing them back to the present. “How about a break?” Cecil suggested, a little too quickly. “Dinner’s cooled down just right, I think. We can pick this back up later.”

Carlos nodded, closing the dossier and pushing it aside. “Sounds good to me.”he nodded, and finished his glass of wine. “More wine?”

“Sure, I’ll have another glass,” Cecil called from the kitchen. “Good call, by the way, it’s a very good year.”

“Glad I made a good choice,” Carlos smirked as he took the bottle from the table, filling both of their glasses to the halfway mark. “So, do you live here alone?”

“Most of the time,” Cecil called back, emerging from the kitchen with two plates of food. “I have a cat, Khoshekh, and My niece stays here with me when her step-father has to work, but she’s with him tonight.”

“Oh, a niece?” Carlos tried to appear casual, but it was killing him inside to pretend to be surprised by family he already knew about.

“Most important girl in my life,” Cecil smiled fondly, placing a plate in front of Carlos and then at the corner across from him. “Such a smart, lovely girl. I love her to bits. She makes everyone that meets her love her, though.”

“Well, maybe someday I’ll get to meet her.” Carlos smiled, trying not to die inside. 

Cecil smiled, staring down at his plate with interest. “Y-yeah. I think she’d like you a lot. I know I do.”as soon as the words left his mouth he was blushing hard, like he hadn’t meant to say that. 

Carlos almost choked on his wine. He blushed, and tried not to notice the verbal blunder. “S-so, ah, cat! Khoshekh!” he now tripped over his words as he picked at the food- salisbury steak with mushroom gravy, carrots, and green beans.- “That’s an interesting name.”

“It’s Hebrew for ‘darkness’,” Cecil explained, hastily cutting a piece of meat with his fork, “He’s about the blackest cat you’ve ever seen, and looks like something straight from the void. So, ‘darkness’ just seems fitting.” he chuckled. “He’s getting old now; he’s got a bunch of white hairs over just his head. It makes him look like it’s just his skull or something. Plus he’s outside a lot, and gets into fights sometimes. Lost an eye that way. But he’s still my baby boy.” Cecil laughed nervously. “Gosh, I’m talking a lot, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Carlos replied, swallowing the food in his mouth. Cecil was right, his salsbury steak _was_ to die for. “Really. You should hear me when someone gets me on a tangent about something.”

“Oh?” Cecil tilted his head in intrigue, taking a sip from his wine and swirling it idly. “Like what?” he smiled tenderly. “What kinds of things hold your attention when you’re not at work?”

Carlos was a little thrown off by the- almost seductive?- tone in his voice, but he continued, “I’m really into science,” he explained, with a smile, “especially chemistry and theoretical physics.”

“Wow,” Cecil remarked, taking a bite from the green beans and taking his time to chew and swallow them. “That’s a big departure from police work.”

“I know,” he chuckled, “Originally I wanted to be a scientist with emphasis on physics. But I couldn’t handle the teachers for the classes I was in. The Academy was much more workable for me.”

He took a sip from his wine, letting the bitter liquid wash over his tongue. “I still keep up on the studies from time to time.” he said, “But I’m more of a hobbyist scientist in what little free time I have.”

“I see.” Cecil nodded, still stabbing at his dinner, eyes now transfixed on Carlos’s left hand. “Um… well, stop me if this is too personal, but I was wondering…”

Carlos tilted his head in curiosity, eyes aimed at Cecil. “I just noticed you, um, you have a ring on your left ring finger,” Cecil looked like he was forcing out the question. “Um… well, I was just wondering if it was… you know…”

“A wedding ring?” Carlos finished for him.

“Yeah,” Cecil nodded, and seemed disappointed to hear the answer.

Carlos smiled and shook his head. “It’s not even an off-the-market ring.” he explained, and Cecil appeared visibly relieved. “My father gave it to me when I graduated. Mostly I just wear it there to keep unwanted attention away.” he realized the fault in his words. “I-I mean! Not that _you’re_ unwanted attention, I mean! It's just that I’m--!” he blushed. 

“Oh my god,” Cecil seemed to lose all the color from his face,”Oh my god you're straight. You're straight and I'm totally unwanted affection oh my god. I’m so sorry!”

“No!” Carlos exclaimed, almost choking on his food. “No, no, no definitely not straight, not even a little bit. Gay as they come, actually. But, no, I didn't mean that at all, more like I’m kind of, um, never got the time…if that makes sense?” He chuckled nervously. “Wow. I’m sorry, I’m not usually this bad at talking.” _Don’t lie, Carlos, yes you are._

Cecil laughed, looking _very_ relieved, and it sounded as though bells were ringing. “I know what you mean,” he said easily, “You’re married to your work.”

“Yeah,” Carlos sighed internally. “It’s not that I don’t want a relationship. But it really wouldn’t be fair to the other person. This job kind of… takes over. Sometimes.”

“Ooh, the stoic noir detective-type FBI agent,” Cecil narrowed his eyes, a playful, mysterious shine to them, “backlit by the setting sun as he roams the city, looking for answers where there are none, destined to be lonely with crime and the justice system as his only lover.” 

Carlos chuckled, taking a bite from his food (he noticed with some interest that he was already almost done. He didn’t even realize before!) “You really are a wordsmith.”

“Tool of the trade,” Cecil shrugged in reply. “I wrote all my own scripts when I worked at the Radio station.”

“Radio station?” Carlos asked, again dying internally at the relearning information. “You worked at the Radio Station?”

“I did,” Cecil nodded, a sad smile over his features. “But your friendly neighborhood corporate regime bought it out and forced me out for,” he made bitter finger quotes. “Artistic differences.”

“Ah, I see.” Carlos nodded. He tried to change the subject, he didn’t want to infect this moment with work. “This dinner is delicious.”

Cecil lit up like a christmas light at the praise. “Thank you.” he murmured happily. “I didn’t know what you’d like. I was a little worried I wouldn’t deliver.”

“Well, you definitely did,” Carlos replied, taking one last bite and wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I don’t think I’ve eaten so well in a month.”

“You flatter me,” Cecil smiled, staring down at his plate as he stabbed the remaining vegetables onto the tines of his fork and devoured them in one bite.

Carlos put his fork down and took a sip from his glass. Once he placed the glass back on the table, he stood and picked up his plate. Cecil immediately put out a hand, as if to stop him. “Oh, don’t worry about dishes, I’ll get to them later,” he said.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Carlos said, taking Cecil’s cleaned plate and fork. “You cooked, I’ll clean.” 

“Well, if you say so,” Cecil took a demure sip from his wine, “how about you wash, and I’ll dry?”

“Fair enough,” Carlos smiled, and Cecil seemed as though he was about to melt. 

Cecil followed him into the kitchen, getting a towel from the drawer. There weren’t many dishes left over from dinner, just their plates and silverware, and three pots from cooking after Cecil had put away the leftovers. This meant they were done fairly quickly, but the two were also sidetracked by a clumsy slip of the hand, and a splash of red wine dribbled down Carlos’s front. “Oh, darn it,” Cecil grumbled, looking embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, I’m such an idiot. Let me wash it for you before it stains.”

“No, no, it’s fine, really,” Carlos tried to say, but could barely get the words out before Cecil was easily untying the knot in his tie and unbuttoning the buttons of his shirt. 

“No, no, I insist,” Cecil reached the bottom-most button so fast Carlos might’ve sworn he imagined it. “It’s such a nice shirt, I’d hate to let it…” Cecil slowed his movements, as if he’d suddenly realized he was undressing his guest. “...stain…” he finally finished,his voice a little softer than before.

Carlos lost all his words as the reporter’s smooth, slim, cool hands ghosted easily up his torso, resting finally over his heart, and the scar there that was a reminder of one of the times he cheated death. Cecil traced over it lightly with his pointer finger, silently asking the question too uncomfortable to voice. “Gunshot wound.” Carlos answered quietly, moving the shirt to show the scars more completely. “A little over a year ago…. was working in the Organized Crime division when I first graduated the academy… was caught in a firefight with armor-piercing rounds. It passed through my vest, and only just missed my heart.” he put a hand to Cecil’s, guiding it just slightly to the left. “Two centimeters to the left, and I wouldn’t be here now.”

Cecil’s hand uncurled under Carlos’s, thumb bending slightly as if to stroke his fingers. “I’m glad it missed.” he said quietly, wrapping his other arm around Carlos’s waist and letting his head rest on his chest. 

“Most of the time, I am too.” Carlos said softly, hesitantly bringing his other hand around to rest on Cecil’s back.

Carlos was positive the other could feel his heart beating. He could hear it in his own ears, blood rushing and pulse pounding. He closed his eyes. Cecil had such soft hands. But this was wrong. Cecil was a suspect, _this_ -and by _this_ his mind gestured vaguely to what could only be seen as a budding relationship between an FBI agent and the suspect in a federal investigation- was not fair to Cecil. But his hair smelled so nice… And his skin was so soft… And his touch was so gentle and comforting… “Cecil,” Carlos’s voice was soft. “Cecil… We shouldn't… This…”

“I know,” Cecil’s voice was soft, but his arm around Carlos tightened. “It’s wrong… I’m involved in the case just living here,” he said softly, “but… I want to forget about that… Just for tonight.” Carlos felt his heart melt under Cecil’s gentle hands. “I’ll go back to being Mr. Palmer… And you'll go back to being Agent Ramon tomorrow, but… At least for tonight… let’s simply be Cecil and Carlos.”

Carlos sighed quietly, his eyes sliding closed. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he had been held like this. Not since graduation, at least. _Maybe, just for tonight._ He reasoned with himself, _Yes... just for tonight._

He took his hand from over Cecil’s hand, letting it trail up to Cecil’s chin. He gently tilted it up, his thumb stroking his cheek. Cecil gazed up at him with widened eyes, black pupils dilated. 

Carlos silenced the racing thoughts in his mind by closing the gap between their lips, gently, tenderly even, but at the same time urgent and wanting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* the next chapter is my first attempt at sexytimes soooo, yeah. it's its own chapter that anyone that doesn't want to read the porn, and there will be a summary of the few plot-related events at the very end. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wellp. this is the chapter with the sex. yep. *nervously drumming fingers* Sexy times, the times with the sex. first time I've actually posted sex or wrote it not in a roleplay. *slides $20 across a table to readers* please don't hate me. >.>
> 
> OH, and also this is the chapter with the non-consensual drug use. if that squicks you out, be warned because that is a thing in this chapter.
> 
> Also, for anyone reading this that is sex-repulsed, I'll put a summary at the bottom for any plot points you missed :)

Cecil appeared surprised at first, tensing slightly at the shock of the sudden kiss. But after a moment, he relaxed, melting into it easily. It was Carlos that broke the kiss, pulling away just enough to look into Cecil’s eyes before the other man returned the kiss, just as urgent, just as wanting, but much less gently. Carlos took the signal, opening his mouth in the kiss and letting his tongue explore Cecil’s unfamiliar mouth. 

Cecil whimpered quietly in appreciation, the hand on his chest trailing lightly to the space between the agent’s muscular shoulder blades. He eased the wine-stained shirt from his shoulders completely, Carlos moving his arms from around Cecil for a moment to let the unbuttoned fabric fall with an airy flutter. Carlos pressed against him, groaning quietly as Cecil buried his hands in his bouncy curls and tugged gently. The reporter’s breath hitched as he felt Carlos’s hands on his hips, teasing the edges of his tunic before slowly drawing it up his body. 

Their lips parted, and Carlos pushed the shirt up and over Cecil’s head, the reporter’s glasses skewed awkwardly as he wadded the fabric in a ball and tossing it behind him haplessly. Carlos leaned back just enough to see the color that caught his eye. The agent gasped slightly, biting his lower lip. Somehow, it only seemed fitting. Cecil having tattoos, that was. Large, intricate tattoos at that; a violet eye with a crescent moon in the pupil in the center of his chest (he couldn’t place it right at that moment with the blood usually dedicated to his brain seemingly otherwise located, but it seemed familiar), and what appeared to be tentacles similar to that of an octopus starburst from all sides of it, curling over his shoulders and down to his elbows as well as dipping down past the line of his pants. Cecil seemed to freeze shyly under Carlos’s scrutiny, as if his entire aura withdrew. “L-like what you see?” Cecil asked quietly, his cheeks flushed in arousal.

Carlos nodded dumbly, swallowing nervously as he removed Cecil’s glasses and placed them delicately on the table.“A lot, yes,” he stumbled to form words, “I mean, wow. Those are some tattoos.” He smiled slightly. “I’m… Curious to see what other tattoos you have.”

Cecil smiled, and Carlos about melted right there. Wordlessly, Cecil removed his dark framed glasses and took his hand, giving it a gentle tug towards the hallway. Carlos swallowed again as he followed, neither of them speaking. _It's been a while since I've done something like this,_ Carlos felt his thoughts racing again. _I'm going to screw this up. I just know it, I'm going to screw this up. Oh god._

The door at the end of the hall opened with a quiet click and swung open with a quiet creak. Cecil looked back at the dark-haired agent with a demure smile. Carlos smiled back, following him into the bedroom. It was like the rest of the house: bits and pieces of every color and pattern, mashed together into a mismatched and chaotic, but also downright homey atmosphere. Carlos didn't pay it much mind, instead focused more on the very attractive man before him and the fact they were wearing _entirely_ too much clothing right now. Cecil seemed to have the same idea, his breathing uneven as he fumbled with Carlos’s belt and practically tearing open the fly of his pants before awkwardly yanking at his own furry drawers. Eager for the contact, Carlos yanked the furry garment the rest of the way down, kicking his own dark-wash jeans from around his ankles and vaguely regarding the sound of his phone clattering with a few muted _thumps_ on the carpeted floor. 

He pressed his body to Cecil’s, his arousal painfully apparent by the prominent tent in his cartoony atom- covered boxers, and the dark stain atop it. Cecil moaned breathlessly, hooking his ankle around the other’s leg and tilting his head back just enough to look at his face, urging him backwards toward the bed. Carlos complied enthusiastically, his mouth going to Cecil’s neck, just grazing the skin. The reporter gasped breathlessly, legs nearly turning to jello at the feeling of teeth on his neck. “C-Carlos-! _Nggh!_ ” Cecil’s voice became almost a squeak at the feeling of Carlos’s calloused hand on his butt, giving it a rough squeeze.

Carlos made a sound that could only be described as a growl, biting at Cecil’s neck and sucking gently, the reporter turning to putty in his hands. He gently guided Cecil down onto the bright yellow duvet, one hand on his back, the other on the bed. “T-top or bottom?” Carlos felt the stutter in his voice, his erection twitching once or twice in anticipation. 

“B-bottom is good,” Cecil replied in a rushed tone, mind in a haze. “J-just g-go easy on me… H-haven't done this in awhi- _ah!_ ” He whimpered a quiet whimper, moving his hips underneath the heavier federal agent, desperate for any kind of friction. 

Carlos drew a breath through his teeth, the sound it produced resembling a hiss. He caught Cecil’s lips in another kiss, pressing him down on the bed and grinding down against his hips, the friction and stimulation on his cock almost unbearable. “D-do you-? A-ah, l-lube... and protection?” Carlos borrowed back some of the blood flooding his lower half to think properly. 

Cecil nodded, cheeks flushed a dark red. “D-dresser… T-top drawer, silver tin.” He managed, almost panting in want.

Carlos filed the information away for use once Cecil’s body ceased being _so damn kissable and downright fantastic_ and pressed fluttery kisses to the reddening spots on his neck, down to his smooth clavicles and across his muscular chest, following the intricate lines of ink undulating over smooth flesh. Cecil sighed in a quiet, contented tone, one hand tangling in Carlos’s curls and the other running fingernails lightly over the nape of his neck and shoulders. He gasped and gave a soft whimper at Carlos’s calloused hand finding his left nipple and giving it an experimental squeeze. He opened his eyes halfway, seeing Carlos’s dark chocolate eyes gazing back up to him. “Carlos,” Cecil almost begged. “P-please, I can’t-!” Another moan as Carlos’s skilled mouth enveloped his other nipple. “ _N-need_ you…”

Carlos released the nub of skin from his teeth, placing an apologetic kiss to Cecil’s pecs, and smiled down at Cecil. He fumbled awkwardly over Cecil, only just barely reaching the bedside table on the right side of the bed. He searched through the drawer, hands shaky in nerves and anticipation as he found the cool plastic of a tube of lubrication and crinkle of foil and distinct square-with-a-doughnut-inside shape of a condom and quickly snapped the drawer shut. The federal agent righted himself, moving so that he was sitting on his heels between Cecil’s legs, the condom and lube set aside for the moment in favor of holding the waistband of Cecil’s boxers, where the tattoos on his stomach dipped into(and out of, in some places). Carlos looked into Cecil’s eyes, very deliberately, and tried to find the words. “Are you… Are you sure?” He asked after a moment, “can say no… If we’re… Going too fast.”

Cecil gave him a smile and nodded his head, flexing his stomach muscles so that he was sitting upright, and kissed Carlos’s lips. “I’m sure.” He said, his breath hot against Carlos’s lips. “I’m sure, as long as you are.”

“Very sure.” Carlos nodded, catching his lips in a quick peck, trying not to think about how awkward his speech sounded or _how_ sure he was. 

Cecil kept up that smile of his as he laid back down, watching as Carlos easily pulled down his boxers, his erection catching on the elastic for a moment but springing back to press against his stomach excitedly. Carlos swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes hungrily drinking in the sight. Cecil’s tattoos swirled down the swell of his muscled stomach just barely into the space between the slight bump of his stomach and his penis, and more came from down his thighs and skirted the edges of the space and up around his hipbones. He bit his lip, tracing the ones on his thighs and receiving a shiver in reply. 

Carlos had the presence of mind for the moment to get a pillow from behind them, tapping the side of Cecil’s hip to get him to lift up and sliding it under to make it more comfortable. He quickly took the lube from beside them, the cap snapping loose with a single _crack_ , and squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers. He begged his breathing to be steady as he trailed the wet fingers from the edges of Cecil’s tattooed thighs to his entrance, coating the outside of the hole in the wet, oily substance. Cecil shuddered in pleasure as soon as he felt those fingers brush against it, silently begging Carlos to continue. Carlos smirked at the other’s response, pushing in a single finger, slowly, nervously, not wanting to hurt the other man. Cecil whined quietly in response, eager for more. After a moment or two, a second finger joined the first, stretching the tight ring of muscles, coating the inside with lubricant. When his fingers brushed over a spot and Cecil gave a breathy moan, Carlos was sure he'd found the other’s prostate. He inhaled a deep breath, pausing for just a moment to collect himself, before adding a third finger to the tight muscles, feeling them clench around the digits tightly as he prodded the nerves deliberately, over and over, Cecil’s fervent moans and small squirms of pleasure encouraging.

Carlos withdrew the fingers hastily, Cecil whimpering in disapproval at the sudden loss. With shaking hands, the agent quickly pulled down his boxers and used them to wipe his fingers before tossing them away haphazardly. He was practically tripping over his own fingers in nerves and anticipation as he hastily tore open the packaging, rolling the rubber down his member and making sure it wasn’t going anywhere. He saw Cecil’s eyes widen slightly at the sight, and both of them blushed. “L-like what you see?” Carlos asked, still smiling, hands still at his cock.

Cecil snapped his eyes back to his face and nodded. “A-a lot, yes.” He replied, eyes wandering back down to Carlos’s hard- _and huge_ \- member. 

Carlos felt his blush grow as he lined himself up to Cecil’s entrance, the damp head of his member just touching. He put one hand to Cecil’s side, gently caressing the smooth skin with his thumb.“R-ready?”

The reporter gave a quiet moan and nodded in reply, his words leaving him completely as he felt Carlos enter him, agonizingly slowly. He whimpered and gasped, fingers curling around the duvet. Carlos restrained himself, biting his lip so hard he was worried it would bleed, desperately reigning in his instincts to completely and suddenly bury himself in the ecstasy that was Cecil and instead rubbing Cecil’s hip, trying to help him relax. He looked down at Cecil, trying to find anything other than pleasure in his twisted features, waiting for approval that he had adjusted enough and wanted him to move, and nearly came right there at the sight of Cecil’s flushed face. The reporter looked up at him with hazy eyes, smiling a small smile and nodding a little bit.

That was all the approval he needed. Slowly, hesitantly at first, Carlos thrusted in and out of him, eyes sliding shut from the pure pleasure. Cecil was _tight_. He was _tight,_ even with the preparation, and Carlos knew he was _not_ going to last long. The combination of years without a partner, the alcohol in his system, and the sheer pleasure in the situation made him feel as though he was a timebomb, with the timer having started almost as soon as he heard those first wanton moans tumble from his lovely mouth. Cecil whimpered as Carlos thrusted, his mouth hanging open and head held back. He cried out loudly, giving Carlos indication that he’d found the spot that would undoubtedly make him scream. Carlos groaned loudly, wanting nothing more than to slam into that spot as hard as he could, to make that beautiful mouth moan and cry out for him. “H-harder, Carlos,” he moaned, his hand finding Carlos’s leg and giving it a squeeze. 

Carlos let out a breath and silently thanked whatever God he could think to thank for this particular situation, angling himself so he struck that spot that made Cecil cry out and thrusting harder at it. “ _A-ah,_ Carlos, _Carlos,_ ” Cecil’s fingernails dug into the other man’s thighs and his voice became something akin to a prayer, “ _g-god, Carlos--!!_ ”

“ _Cecil_ ,” Carlos murmured, eyes closed, focused on making it last as long as possible, “Cecil, I'm not going to last much longer.”

“Me either,” Cecil whimpered, his other hand reaching down to stroke his own member, “oh _god_ Carlos, you feel so amazing-!!”

Carlos laughed breathlessly, wanting to remark that that was his line, but couldn't find the words to. As he saw Cecil’s hand, he quickly took it, slowing down his thrusts for a moment. “L-let me,” he said, bringing the hand to his lips to kiss the knuckles, then letting it go in favor of wrapping his fingers around Cecil’s weeping member. 

Cecil mewled and moaned throaty groans of pleasure, hips bucking in the rhythm of Carlos’s clumsy hands and erratic thrusts. It only took a few strokes before Cecil was screaming Carlos’s name, his vision filled with starbursts of light as he came almost violently in his hand. Carlos followed immediately after, his whole body tensing, his breath seeming to stop in his chest. 

He collapsed over Cecil, head on the other’s tattooed chest, both of them panting in exhaustion. “W-wow.” Carlos said after several minutes.

“Y-yeah,” Cecil nodded in agreement, his mind hazy with afterglow. “ _Wow._ ”

Carlos slowly pulled his softening cock out from him, making sure he didn't lose the condom and its contents. He slowly laid down beside Cecil, kissing his cheek. “Was it good for you?” Cecil asked, his voice hopeful. “It was…. Really really great for me.”

“I’ll be honest,” Carlos was still breathing heavily, but he shook his head and laughed breathlessly. “that was undoubtedly the best sex I've had in years.” _Also the only sex I’ve had in years,_ he didn’t say.

Cecil smiled back at him, turning his head to kiss Carlos properly. “Good,” Cecil said, “I'm glad it was.”

Cecil started to sit up, then stood from the bed, his knees wobbly. “I’m getting a drink of water,” He said, “if you want to clean up first, the bathroom’s just through that door.”

Carlos watched him walk out of the door, legs still wobbly as he made his way into the kitchen. Carlos took the chance to get rid of the condom and wash his hands, as well as find his boxers and put them back on. 

By the time he was back at the bed, Cecil was there as well, standing by the bed with his boxers on, a glass of water in his hands. He offered it to Carlos, which he readily took. “Thank you,” Carlos murmured, downing it in a few sips, despite the fact it was a little bit bitter. (this state wasn't exactly famous for having good water).

Cecil watched him drink the water, an apologetic look in his face. Carlos was slightly put off by the look in his features, not fully able to understand. Wasn't he _happy_ before? Carlos knew _he_ certainly had been. “Um.” He swallowed nervously. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Cecil’s voice was even, unsettlingly so. “Nothing’s wrong, dear Carlos.”

Carlos opened his mouth to regard the ‘dear Carlos’ comment, but couldn't get the words out as a wave of drowsiness suddenly washed over him. “C-Cecil…?” His voice slurred over the word as Cecil slowly pushed him back onto the bed where the covers laid upturned. 

Carlos’s vision swam uncomfortably, the entire world around him spinning.I’m sorry about this, Carlos,” Cecil’s voice was soft, sad even, as he drew the duvet to Carlos’s strong chin. “Please forgive me.”

 _Please forgive me?_ Carlos’s muddled mind couldn't force the words out. But at once, he realized.

Cecil drugged him. Something in the water, Cecil put something in the water.

“I’m sorry, Carlos,” Cecil said, eyebrows furrowed in apology, his voice dropping down to a heart-stoppingly familiar tone. “ _Goodnight, Carlos._ ” Cecil placed a kiss to Carlos’s sweaty forehead. “ _Goodnight._ ”

He fought to speak, his voice coming out in garbled mumbles, his body relaxed in the warmth of the bed, eyes lazily and helplessly watching Cecil disappear into the bathroom. The last thing Carlos heard as he drifted into unconsciousness was the hypnotic sounds of flowing water, and then nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Carlos and Cecil totally do it, Cecil drugs Carlos, and as Carlos is falling asleep, Cecil says "Goodnight, Carlos. Goodnight" and reveals himself as the Voice of Night Vale.
> 
> *hides, cringing nervously* just be gentle with me, please...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, everyone, it's been a wild ride. sorry if this feels kinda rushed, I wasn't 100% sure how to end this. but, hey. its ended.
> 
> fair warning, this briefly mentions drugs, nonconsensual drug use, and hints at sexual assault.

Carlos’s eyes fluttered open, the light of the sun peeking through the blinds. He blinked, trying to clear the fuzziness from his vision. He shifted in the bed. These were not the scratchy sheets of his hotel bed. These were softer, as though they had been very freshly laundered. He started to sit up, joints creaking as he shifted, blankets falling and revealing his bare chest. He lifted the sheets and glanced, eyes squinted. _Yep. Just boxers._ He deduced.

He stretched his arms, yawning a wide-mouth yawn and scratching the back of his head. He groped at the fuzzy-edged shape of the bedside table, finding his glasses neatly folded. He unfolded the arms from the frames, slipping them over his ears. He blinked owlishly, the sun from the blinds creating the beginnings of a headache. 

The federal agent glanced around the small room, seeing his clothing from the night before folded and sitting on a chair.   
_  
Oh. Right._ He thought with a shiver. _Cecil. He drugged me, didn’t he? But why?  
_  
Carlos glanced around the room, out of habit, and stood slowly to reach for the clothes on the chair. _Did he find out I knew?_ He asked himself, _Maybe he thought I was getting to close to finding something out._

A note fluttered from the clothes as he took them from the chair. He picked it up, holding it by the edges.   
_  
“Carlos,  
You have a lot of questions. I have answers. And breakfast.”  
_  
The letter wasn’t signed with a name. Just an insignia of an eye with a crescent moon in the pupil.   
_  
The same eye that was on the USB drives left at the museums.  
_  
Carlos pulled the jeans up his legs and buckled his belt, the room quiet save for the muted clink of metal on metal. He glanced back at the bed behind him, where only hours before he’d let down the walls he’d built around himself. He frowned. So that’s what he got for _just this once._

He shook the thought, tapping the lock button on his phone. Dead. of course, dead. He sighed, pocketing the device, instead focusing on buttoning the buttons of his shirt as he walked out of the bedroom and out to the open living room and kitchen area. The quiet hiss and occasional pop of bacon and eggs came from the kitchen, where Cecil now stood wearing a pair of boxers and a tee-shirt about three sizes too big so it looked more like a dress almost, the sleeves down to his elbows and a little bit tattered at the edges. Carlos watched him shuffle food around on the pan with a plastic spatula, as if he didn’t even realize Carlos was awake. Carlos felt a twinge in his chest. Had he met this man under different circumstances, or in a different time, or a different life, even, he might’ve felt happy at the sight. 

But here, now, under these circumstances, he did not. If anything, he felt wary, suspicious. He crossed his arms, leaning against the chair next to the table. After a few moments of simply watching, he cleared his throat. 

Cecil stiffened in surprise, and turned around. “Oh!” he said aloud, then turned back and offered a small smile to Carlos. “Oh, you’re awake.” 

“Yeah,” Carlos replied blankly. 

Cecil turned around, a plate of pancakes with bacon and eggs in his hands. “I… Made breakfast.” He said, quietly.

“Smells good.” Carlos answered honestly, his arms crossed. “Are these going to put me _back_ to sleep?”

Cecil ducked his head, staring awkwardly at the ground. “So, um. I guess you're mad about that, huh?”

“A little bit,” Carlos frowned, his arms still crossed. “But I'm not as confused as to why you drugged me as I am for why you're here now.”

Cecil looked back up at Carlos, his face puzzled. “Well, this _is_ my apartment,” he said plainly, “plus, well, a part of me hoped you’d just… Forget? And maybe I could make it a normal morning-after breakfast?” He offered a nervous smile, but then looked serious, and sad. “But I came back mostly because I think I can trust you, and I need your help.”

“You ‘ _need my help’_?!” Carlos repeated, disbelievingly. “I don't believe you!”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus _Christ_ Cecil, you are the _Voice of Night Vale!_ You are the perpetrator in fifteen of the open case files on my desk, you've stolen thousands of dollars’ worth of artifacts from all over the Desert Bluffs Metropolitan area, you stalked, seduced, not to mention _drugged_ a _federal agent-_ and you need _my_ help?!” Carlos shook his head, feeling tears form in his eyes. “I mean, for god’s sake, Cecil, did I ever mean _anything_ to you _at all_ Or was I just another mark, another treasure to be stolen, a means to an end?”

“No,” Cecil answered immediately as he reached behind him, turning off the stove. “No, of course not, Carlos. I never wanted to use you. It may have started out that way, at first. I thought I could get myself to do it, but I couldn't…” Cecil glanced up at Carlos, tears forming in his eyes. “Carlos… what I said last night, I meant it. I really _do_ care about you.”

“You’ve sure got a funny way of showing it.”Carlos replied dryly. “I just don’t understand, Cecil. You have a case against them even without the drug charges. Your testimonies alone could put them away on a federal level, there are legal channels you could’ve gone through to-”

“Legal channels,” Cecil huffed, crossing his arms, “Don’t you think I _tried_ that? Carlos, do you _honestly_ think you’re the first Federal agent that’s been stationed here?”

Cecil crossed his arms over his front, hugging himself. “I tried to get them through legal channels. But they have so many hands putting money in pockets, they’re untouchable save for something big they can’t wriggle out of.” 

“Right, I guess you’ve got a point.” Carlos nodded, crossing his arms defensively. “So what exactly do you need from me?”

“All we need is for you to turn your investigation towards the building that was robbed last night.” Cecil’s voice was soft and even, sounding distinctly like the recorded voice that had stumped his best analysts and their voice-recognition software. “Once it is investigated, there will be no need for a Voice of Night Vale.” 

“What was robbed last night?” Carlos asked, his voice becoming that of his trade.

“Not a museum.” Cecil replied smoothly, turning back to the stovetop and stirring the eggs around on the pan so they would not burn. “I’ll venture to guess that you wouldn’t’ve been notified of it. But then again, I don’t think that even the local police would’ve been notified.” he almost shivered, using the spatula to spoon it onto two plates. “StrexCorp likes to handle their affairs internally. They probably already have their attack dog on it as we speak.”

“Detective Free.” Carlos murmured. 

“Bingo, Gluten-free spaghetti-o’s.” Cecil nodded. “Though ‘detective’ is a strong word. Maybe ‘enforcer’ is more fitting.”

“So he’s a hired goon,” Carlos nodded, twirling his ring idly. “He’s the one they call to clean up the messes and keep Strexcorp noses clean.”

“Exactly.” Cecil nodded, putting one plate in Carlos’s hands. 

“Alright.”Carlos nodded, looking away. “But Mr. Palmer, even though you’re helping me in this case, I can’t guarantee your safety in this. Or that you won’t leave this in handcuffs.”

“Agent Ramon,” Cecil’s voice took on a seductive tone and his face contorted into an attempt at a smirk. “I didn’t place you as the type.”

“Not like _that_ Cecil!” Carlos felt his cheeks grow hot at the thought of Cecil’s dirty suggestion, “I mean, you’re still a felon! You broke into all those museums, you stole artifacts.”

“I know, Carlos.” Cecil said softly. “And I know, I’m not going to leave this with my hands clean. That’s where the favor comes in.”  
 _  
Investigating the break-in wasn’t the favor?_ “If… if it’s possible…” Cecil swallowed, his voice heavy. “Only me.”

Carlos narrowed his eyes, studying the reporter. “Only you?”

“Only take me.” Cecil said softly. “It was all my idea. Don’t bring them down with me.”

“Them, meaning your team?” Carlos asked, putting the plate of food on the table behind him. “Just judging by your list of friends and family that came up with your file, I guess…” he thought for a moment. “Steve Carlsberg and Earl Harlan?”

Cecil nodded. “They didn’t even do that much,” Cecil tried to reason. “All Steve did was walk Janice around the museums. It was Earl and me that did the actual crimes.” Cecil looked up at Carlos with almost desperate eyes. “Earl’s son has autism, and he’d go into the system without him… and Steve, he’s all my niece has left besides me. Please, Carlos, I’m begging you.” tears started to form in his eyes. “I’ll take the fall, I’ll turn myself in and confess everything, I’ll go to prison for the rest of my life or take the death penalty if I have to, but please, don’t take my niece and godsons’ fathers away.”

Carlos took a deep breath, turning his face away so he wouldn’t have to look into Cecil’s eyes. “I… Cecil, I could get into a lot of trouble for that. No matter what their involvement, they’re still involved. If my superiors found out I was lying by omission, we could _all_ be in a lot of trouble.”

Cecil looked down dejectedly. “I… I understand,” Cecil’s voice was soft. 

Carlos cleared his throat quietly, “I’m sorry, Cecil,” he said, honestly. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way… I wish…” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “God, I wish we could’ve met in some other life, under some other circumstances. In some other world where maybe I’m a scientist, and you’re still the Community Radio host, and our times and spaces still cross.” Carlos locked eyes with Cecil, his heart hurting at the sight of the tears. “Some other life, where we could just be Carlos and Cecil, not…”

“Agent Ramon and the Voice of Night Vale.” Cecil said softly. 

“Yes,” Carlos broke eye contact. 

They stood so close. But with the silence in the air there may as well have been a canyon between them. Cecil’s sigh broke the silence. “You should go.” he said softly. “I know you have work to do… hunting down the Voice of Night Vale.”

“Y-yeah.” Carlos said softly. 

He wanted to go back. He wanted to touch, and to be touched. He wanted to tell this man to run, to take his family and run, at least until the statute of limitations was up. He wanted to. But somehow the words couldn’t leave his throat and the actions couldn’t make it past his clenched fists. “Be safe,” Cecil’s voice was soft. 

Carlos was frozen to the spot as Cecil’s lips planted to his cheek, only for a moment. “Scout’s honor… I’ll come forward when it is safe for my family to do so.” Cecil said softly, “when Enforcer Free is behind bars.”

“Alright.” Carlos said softly, nodding. 

Cecil offered a small half smile. “It’s been a pleasure, Agent Ramon.” 

“You’ve been a worthy opponent, Mr. Palmer.” Carlos replied with an even, restrained tone. 

As Carlos turned to leave, something stopped him. “But,” Carlos stopped at the door, “I do have one thing I can’t figure out.”

Cecil turned his head to the side, curiously. “Why wait until the museums were bought out?” Carlos asked, “You had plenty of reason to hate StrexCorp months before that, but you waited until the museums were bought out before you started your retaliation. Why?”

Cecil smiled and shook his head. “Simple, really,” he said softly. “Those museums meant a lot to my Janice. Ever since she was a toddler, we used to visit one of the museums a week, just her, her mother, and I.” Cecil’s face suddenly looked thirty years older. “Then… well. Just her and I… It’s been the one constant in her life since we lost my sister.”

Cecil took a picture frame in his hand, a sad smile over his features. “They’ve… they’ve taken so much from us.” he said softly. “You’ve read my file, don’t deny it. You’ve seen what they’ve done to me.” the former radio host frowned, his grip on the photograph tightening. “The beatings, the intimidation, the...” his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “The… _other_ assaults… but I was happy to endure it all to keep Janice safe. To keep her happy…” Cecil sighed. “When I realized what the museums were going to be used for... “ he shook his head. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t be silent a moment longer.”

Carlos nodded in understanding, feeling a lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.” Cecil shook his head. “I really didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. You’re just doing your job.”

The “criminal mastermind” offered a sad smile. “Go and do your job… you’ll find an anonymous tip was called in this morning. It explains the building you would do well to investigate.” he said softly. “Be safe.”

“You too.” Carlos murmured, hesitating to leave, twirling his ring nervously. 

He decided to leave before the dull ache in his chest made him stay.

*

8:43 AM. Police department, main office. “You’re in late this morning,” Carlos cringed slightly at the (Accusing? Annoyed? Amused? One of those sounded right) tone of Rachelle’s voice and the smirk over her face.

“Lost track of time, you know how it goes.” Carlos muttered in reply. 

“Yeah, yeah I know,” Rachelle kept up her smirk, taking a sip from her coffee cup. “Didn’t see your car at the hotel last night.” she used the hand holding the paper cup to gesture to his shirt and tie. “And that’s awfully spiffy for you, for work. If I didn’t know you better, I’d swear you went out on a _date_ last night.”

“I did not.” Even Carlos could tell how petulant he sounded. “You know I was following up on a lead.” Carlos kept his voice even and businesslike. The less Rachelle probed, the better.

“Sweetie,” Rachelle immediately switched from the playful teasing to a more serious tone, “I’ve known you since the Academy. I know how you dress for a date.” she nudged him. “And I know when you’re walking the walk of shame, too.”

Carlos’s cheeks flushed a dark red. “Keep that up and I’ll file a sexual harassment complaint.” he muttered, only half kidding. “Seriously, Chelle, I don’t want to talk about it.”

She put her hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay, sorry,” she said defensively. “Geez, you'd think you'd be in a _good_ mood after getting some.”

“ _Harassment_!” Carlos raised his voice, shaking his head. 

“Whatever you say,” she shrugged. “Come on, we got an”- finger quotes again(Rachelle was fond of those)- “‘Anonymous tip’ I think you’ll want to hear.”

Carlos frowned, biting his lip nervously. He followed Rachelle through the station, where Nils was set up with her computers. “What do you have for us, Nils?”

The girl glanced up from her screen, sliding the headphones off her ears. “More to add to the ‘ _bag full of cats crazy_ ’ that is the Voice of Night Vale.” she shook her head. “Speaking of which, did you happen to find out anything more about that Palmer guy?”

Immediately, Carlos felt the weight of the world on his throat. He wondered if the clocks not working in Night Vale that made time unreliable was somehow affecting him now, because there was no way so much time could’ve passed as he thought over what to say. “No,” he said briskly, shaking his head and turning away. “Nothing we don’t already know.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rachelle’s dark eyes studying him. He prayed she wouldn’t dig into this later. He’d already lied for Cecil, he didn’t need to drag her into it as well. “Bummer,” Nils shrugged, not seeming to catch onto his stiff reaction. “I thought for sure we had our guy. Anyways, here’s the Anonymous Tip we got earlier.”

She handed him the headphones, which he slipped over his ears easily. He felt chills run down his spine as the sound of the voice that would undoubtedly haunt his dreams for the rest of his life washed over him.   
_  
“Guess what day it is today, Agents! It's parade day! Remember how I told you about the not-at-all-secret parade today at the location we discussed via recording? Remember I publicly announced today's parade at that specific location? We want everyone at today's parade, at that time and place we discussed.”_ Carlos racked his brain. They never actually discussed where Cecil wanted him to investigate. It had to be something StrexCorp related, and not a museum, but beyond that, he wasn’t sure. _“There will be lots of things happening! Planned things, strategic things. But definitely not a rebellion against what I can only call “a dystopian corpocratic regime."”_ Carlos snorted quietly in disbelief. Now that he’d heard Cecil’s voice and could place a name to the sarcastic Voice, he couldn’t unhear it. “ _Parade day has finally begun, Agent Ramon.”_ Carlos felt shivers down his spine at the sound of his name as the voice dropped into an almost deadly tone. _“Come to the parade grounds and see what kind of colors and noise a proud community can make.”_

Carlos shook his head and slid the headphones off his ears. “You’re right. Bag full of cats crazy.” he muttered. “What the hell is he talking about, Parade Day?”

“Who knows,” Rachelle cocked her hip, running her fingers through her kinky-curly hair and scratching the back of her head. “Maybe it’s just his way of saying ‘look, StrexCorp’s dirty laundry out in the open, out on parade.’”

Carlos hummed in thought, eyebrows furrowed and hand at his ring. “Something doesn’t seem right.” he muttered, “There is no date, no time, no location, anything. He just. Expects us to know where this is all going down.”

“Maybe we already do.” Nils muttered in reply. “It’s faint, but if I isolate some of the noise…” she tapped a few keys, punctuating it with a final _tap._ “There we go.”

Carlos put the earphones back over his ears. “That’s morse code,” he said aloud, “let’s see… um... “ his morse code was a little rusty, but he could still recollect the letters vaguely. “G… O…-someone write this down- T- O- R… A…-Nils can you slow it down a little? Thank you. D… O… N… C… A… N… Y… O… N… S… T… R… E… X… C… O… R… P… H… Q…I… N... E… X… A… C… T… L… Y… Numerical two… H...O...U...R…S...” he glanced down at the paper Rachelle had been writing on. “‘Go to Radon Canyon Strexcorp HQ in exactly two hours. Time?”

Rachelle glanced at her wrist. “Nine o’clock, on the dot.” 

“And what time did this call come through?” Carlos asked, focused. 

Niljana checked the timestamp on the call. “Eight-thirty this morning.” she told him.

“Right,” Carlos nodded, “Rachelle, contact Sheriff Sam and tell them we need a team organized and ready to move. I have a few loose ends to tie up”

*

10:25 AM, Radon Canyon StrexCorp Headquarters. Carlos fidgeted uneasily, tugging at the edge of his bulletproof vest. “God, I hate this thing.” he muttered softly, “Too tight, too itchy, too _everything._ ” 

“I know, sweetie,” Rachelle commented, checking the clip of her gun. “But would you prefer a few minutes of sensory hell or another bullet in the chest?”

“At this point, I’ll take the bullet.” Carlos muttered. “I’ll take point. You, Stan, and Bomb-squad Kellye cover me and the rest of the team secures the perimeter. Hold on tactical support until I give the word.” _Wait, too stiff, add something encouraging and leader-like._ “Be careful in there, guys. We don’t know what to expect.” _Perfect._ “Right. Let’s move.”

He held one hand to the gun at his hip, face fixed in a focused frown as he opened the glass doors to the headquarters. “FBI, everyone stay where you are!” Carlos called through the building, announcing their presence. 

The rest of the team quickly followed him, their guns drawn and pointed towards the ground, scanning the room for any sort of threats. “Lobby, clear!” Carlos’s voice was almost a growl. 

“Offices, clear!” another officer’s voice sounded from another part of the lower floor.

“Bathrooms, clear!” Rachelle called, “Sheriff, take your team upstairs to check the second and third floors.”

“Right,” Sheriff Sam replied, gesturing to the rest of their team. “Come on, let’s move.”

As the team filed up the stairs to check the rest of the building, a frantic _tap, tap, tap, tap_ of high heels on tiled floor caught Carlos’s attention. “Sir,” a frightened-sounding voice hit Carlos’s ear. “You can’t be in here.”

“I can, and I am.” Carlos showed her a piece of paper detailing the warrant. “We have reason to believe this facility, and everyone in it may be in danger.” he kept vigilant, scanning the room for anything wrong. “Miss, what is your name?”

“Vanessa, Vanessa Oriole.” she replied, pushing her square glasses up on the bridge of her nose with one finger. 

“Ms. Oriole,” Carlos’s tone was brisk. “I need to speak with your boss, is she here?”

“Ms. Mallard is in a meeting, th-there’s been some complications in our security system she needed to address.” She spoke in a practiced tone, almost trembling, “Sir, please, I can’t allow you to interrupt, I’ll lose my job.”

“I’ll be sure to not mention you, Ms. Oriole,” Carlos assured her. “But this is urgent. There could be lives on the line here, Vanessa.”

She hesitated for a moment, looking down at the ground. “Conference room, second floor.” she said softly. 

“Thank you,” Carlos told her softly, then looked up at Rachelle. “Anything?”

“Ground floor is clear,” she said, returning her gun to her holster. “But I just got word from the Sheriff upstairs. Apparently there’s a locked vault with a timer, and it’s counting down.”

“Damn it,” Carlos felt his heart pounding. “How much time is left?”

“Three minutes, twenty seconds.” Rachelle replied, a finger to her earpiece.

“Alright, we work on evacuating the building. Bomb Squad is already on the scene?”

“Yes, but they’re not making a dent in it. It’s protected by reinforced steel, and it’d take hours to cut through.”

Carlos fought his mind to stay on the immediate task, twirling his ring on his left hand. “Great,” he muttered. “Get everyone out. Now.”

Rachelle started to move, but paused, a confused look on her face. “Wait a minute.” she said, “Carlos, it’s not a bomb.” 

“What’re you talking about, not a bomb?” Carlos half-demanded. 

“Just what I said,” Rachelle replied, “Not a bomb. It’s just the timer. It’s a timed lock!”

“And there’s nothing behind the wall,” Carlos asked, “No explosives, no gasses, anything?”

“Nothing that we can tell.” she shook her head, then drew in a breath. “Boss, the timer just reached zero.”

Carlos held his breath, waiting for something to happen. He turned the volume up on his earpiece. “Agent Ramon,” Carlos exhaled a sigh of relief at the voice of Sheriff Sam in his earpiece. “You’re going to want to see this.” 

The federal agent glanced over to Rachelle, nodding briskly and walking to the stairs. They reached the second floor, and the conference room almost immediately after. “You do _not_ have authorization to be in here,” a female voice was more of a snarl. “I could sue you for this, Sheriff Sam!”

Carlos swallowed. So this was the Mighty Duck herself, the one and only Lauren Mallard. He was grateful Nils had thought to fill them in on some of the major players in StrexCorp. “Actually, yes, they do have authorization to be in here, miss.” Carlos made his voice firm and authoritative, again brandishing the search warrant. “Special Agent Ramon, FBI. You must be Ms. Lauren Mallard.”

“Yes, I am.” she spoke through gritted teeth. “You should not even be here. There were never any calls to your office, and there wasn’t any kind of report filed about the break-in, so there’s-”

“So there _was_ a break in last night, then?” Carlos cut her off. “Because we do have reason to believe this building is in some way connected to a federal investigation. And withholding information from me is a federal crime.”

The Vice President gave a huff, looking beet red in the face out of anger. “Agent Ramon,” Carlos felt his skin crawl at that too-sweet voice of Detective Free approaching from behind him. “Let me assure you right now, there is no way you could’ve acquired that warrant of yours so fast with legal process. You, and all of these men are in here illegally, and if they do not vacate the premises, we-”

“Detective Free,” Carlos felt a rush of courage as he turned sharply and locked eyes with the man. “If I were you, I would be _very_ careful what I say about legalities.” his voice was warning, and even he was surprised by it. “Given that if you _do_ claim to be a private I, you are operating without a license, as well as have links to several mysteriously and suddenly _dropped_ instances of assault and battery charges all over Night Vale and the Desert Bluffs Metropolitan area.”

Kevin stood there with his mouth slightly open, trying to formulate words and failing. Carlos gave him a small smile, and a brisk nod of his head, then turned back towards where Sheriff Sam stood with their team filing in and out of the small room. “So, what is it I needed to see, Sheriff?”

“Well, see for yourself, Agent Ramon.” they gestured towards the open door. 

Carlos looked through the doorway. Inside the room there was a wide spread of newspaper clippings and documents. Upon closer examination, Carlos realized the significance of the documents. “These are records of shipments!” Carlos said, “records of shipments coming in and out, buyer contact information… It’s as if he gave us Strex’s own little black book!” 

The agent practically vibrated in excitement. It was everything in him not to flap his arms excitedly, elated that he had such a break in this case. If he didn’t know any better he would say he’d been delivered a box of chocolates! His mind raced, trying to put aside the thrilling thoughts aside for the moment and decide where to start first. He felt his hands shaking at his sides, balled into tight fists. His eyes rested on a stack of documents, with a USB drive on top. He quickly went to it, almost forgetting to pull on vinyl gloves before picking up the drive. He dropped it into a plastic bag and almost threw it at the officer behind him. “Make sure that gets to Niljana, right away!” He said, beginning to sift through the documents. 

His eyes scanned the small print of the documents, eyebrows raising in shock. “I’ll be damned,” Carlos muttered, “These are the certificates of authenticity to all of the stolen artifacts from the museums.”

His finger followed his eyes, searching for the titleholders’ names on a couple of the papers. “All of these are still under their original owners.” he observed, then found more documents. “And on the deeds to the museums… these are still under the original owners as well. These properties were acquired illegally.” 

He glanced back to where Sheriff Sam and Lauren Mallard stood. “Ms. Lauren Mallard, you have the right to remain silent.”

*

3:34 PM, Moonlite All Night Diner. Carlos took a sip from his coffee cup, using the pen in his other hand to scrawl a few hasty words on his report. The diner was much quieter than the last time he’d been there, and it made his work much easier. The gentle sound of footsteps hit his ear. He glanced up, and offered a small smile. “Afternoon,” Carlos greeted, “Have a seat, Mr.Palmer.”

Cecil smiled back stiffly, holding his long, tan tunic in place as he slipped into the booth. “Good afternoon, Agent Ramon,” Cecil’s voice had a touch of apprehension. “So, I suppose it’s my turn to hold to our bargain,” he glanced down at the table. “Would it be too bold of me to ask to have one last cup of coffee as a free man?”

“Well, that depends,” Carlos closed the folder on his reports, pushing the manilla envelope aside and putting his pen back behind his ear. “Is it really stealing if the stolen items were never theirs to begin with?”

Cecil cocked his head, eyebrows furrowed. “You… didn’t call me here to arrest me?” he asked, confusion in his voice. 

Carlos smirked and shook his head. “I never did find out who the Voice of Night Vale was,” he tried to give his voice the transatlantic accent popular in old films. “And I don’t think I ever will. All I’ll ever know for certain is that in stealing those museums, somehow at the same time he stole my heart away.”

Cecil laughed quietly as the waitress returned to the table, pouring black coffee into each of the cups. “So I see, detective.” his voice was almost a purr as he spoke, then returned to regular speaking voice, “well, for what it’s worth, I’m grateful.”

“Of course, Cecil.” Carlos shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Besides. When we tried to pursue the case with the original owners, none of them were interested in pursuing the case, or even trying to collect the insurance on the artifacts. The case was thrown out before someone could say ‘Big Rico’s Pizza’.” he took a sip of coffee and gestured vaguely with his other hand and made an “ _Mmm!_ ” noise of recollection. “Which reminds me, there’s another reason I asked you here today.”

“Oh?” Cecil took a sip from his coffee, neatly trimmed, light purple fingernails drumming the edge of his cup quietly.

“Yes,” Carlos said, taking a second manilla folder from his messenger bag. “I thought you of all people would want to know about what happened with StrexCorp.”

Cecil’s eyes widened, and his posture seemed to straighten instinctively. Carlos opened up the manilla envelope, shuffling pages. “For starters,” he started, “You were right about the drug ring. My old friends over at Organized Crime had been tracking shipments of a new drug, Solarian, known on the street as ‘ _Smiling God_ ’. Sure enough, all those shipments that didn’t quite add up, materials that didn’t match output, the money seeming to come from nowhere- all of it pointed back to the Smiling God shipments Organized Crime had been tracking. Everybody working at StrexCorp is being questioned as we speak.” 

Cecil watched in intrigue, taking another sip from his coffee. “And what’s more,” Carlos spoke with fervor and excitement in his voice, “The documents for the museums that were ‘lost in a fire’ were falsified, if they ever even existed at all. Lauren Mallard was arrested for criminal conspiracy, as well as the drug charges, and ‘Detective’ Free was arrested on several counts of assault, as well as unlawful contracting and operating without a license. You know this already, but all of the titles to the artifacts and the deeds to the museums were returned to their original owners.” he shuffled more papers around, picking one up from the pile. “Actually, _every_ business that was forcibly taken over by StrexCorp has been returned to their original owners. Which reminds me...” he pushed the paper towards Cecil. “This belongs to you.”

Cecil adjusted his glasses, blinking once and gazing down at the paper. “Carlos…” his voice was quiet. “Is this…?”

“Yes.” Carlos nodded. “This’s the deed to the Community Radio station. You were partial owner, and since we can’t seem to find your original station management, the deed defaults to you.” Carlos smiled. “If you really wanted to, you could go back to being the community radio host.”

Cecil looked up at Carlos with tears in his eyes. “Carlos,” Cecil’s voice was soft, “Oh my god, this… I don’t know what to say…” 

“Then don’t say anything.” Carlos shook his head, “All I did was return what belongs to you.”

Cecil swiped at his eyes, clearing the tears from his eyes. After a few moments, he glanced up at Carlos. “What about you?” he asked, “what will _you_ do now?”

“Me?” Carlos twirled his ring, thoughtfully. “I’m not sure, honestly.”

He bit his bottom lip gently in thought. “I’m sure my bosses upstairs will want me to stick around here for some time, and help clean up the fallout from this StrexCorp business.” he said matter-of-factly, “After that, I really don’t know. Waiting around for the next assignment, I suppose. I may try finishing that bachelor’s in science.”

“Sooo,” Cecil looked up at him demurely from over the rims of his glasses. “I guess this means you may be here for some time, then.”

“Most likely, yes.” Carlos closed the folder, twirling his ring again. “So, I suppose I’ll probably have to move from LA, find an apartment here.”

“Oh,” Cecil glanced down, picking at a spot on the table. “Maybe will you need some help with moving?”

“No,” Carlos replied quickly, eyes angled towards the ceiling in thought, more focused on how he would need to organize and pack things to move than the conversation at hand. “I’m an FBI agent… and an FBI agent is self reliant, above all.”

“Oh,” Cecil said softer, sadder, this time.

_Crap, he’s sad, say something nice too!_ “But, um,” Carlos started, twirling his ring, “But… sometimes, help is good too.” he said softly, “Very good, even.”

For several moments, it was very quiet. Only the ambient noise of quiet background diner noise was heard. Cecil swallowed, and his adams apple jiggled slightly. “Carlos,” he said softly. “I want… Can we…” he took a deep breath. “Do you think… is it possible to maybe… start over?”

Carlos bit his lip, staring down at the table. “It’s… I’ll be honest, Cecil, there’s a lot to move on from.” he said honestly. “I’m still angry that you drugged me.”

Cecil’s aura seemed to withdraw, making the man across from Carlos seem very small. “But,” Carlos added, “I suppose I understand why you did it. And I doubt I would’ve done different were we in reverse positions.”

Carlos uncurled his fist, extending his hand across the table. “Hi,” he spoke, a small smile over his face. “I’m Carlos. I’m a scientist, and I’m here to study your strange town.”

Cecil smiled, making Carlos’s heart skip a beat, and took Carlos’s hand to shake gently. “Hi,” he said in reply. “I’m Cecil. I’m the local community radio host.” Cecil’s smile turned mysterious, and his voice dropped down an octave. _“Welcome to Night Vale.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone that was along for the ride. Especially thank you to Umbrie (http://umbrie.tumblr.com/) and Wearestarstuff618 (http://wearestarstuff618.tumblr.com/) for encouraging me and giving me AU ideas XD


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